Lost Memories
by insane.lil.piratess
Summary: Dear Reader. I hereby give to you my tale of dreadful lords, ghastly pirates, invisible sails and mythological compasses. Hold on to your hats as you are about to enter the world of Catalina "Cat" Sparrow... and you will not be disappointed. Sparrabella
1. Prologue

**Lost Memories  
**_by insanelilpiratess_

_Published: 01/12/09_

__

__

_

* * *

_

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, or Pirates of the Caribbean: Jack Sparrow. Disney and Rob Kidd have that pleasure. **

**Author's Note:**** This story has been revised as from January 9, 2011. Chapter twenty-seven holds all the details and shizz. I'm back in business folks! :') **

* * *

**Prologue**

I couldn't remember it at all. But I know it happened; yes, I was certain of that. I even have dreams of that night… as if it was implanted in my brain when I was an infant so the thoughts would haunt me for an eternity in my sleep.

Though the facts are strange, and some impossible to be true, I am sure of three things:

First of all, I _know _that my mother was beautiful; with thick auburn locks and the bright brown eyes we both shared seeming to light up her delicate face. And though this vision never showed her happy, I was positive her smile was as stunning as she was.

Secondly, I know my father was a 'Jack', and he never knew – no, he _still_ doesn't know – I even exist.

And lastly, I was definitely taken away from my mother that night, with the intention of returning to her in the short time of 3 months. Of course, nothing ever works out like that. At least not for me…

x

"Please Jean!" a woman, of who I believe was my mother, pleads to a tall figure, cradling me close to her chest. "Fitzwilliam is still on the hunt; for me _and_ Jack! And what with Jack recently being branded, the East India Trading Company can't protect him as they seemed to have done four months ago!"

The vision always consists of the same two figures; my beautiful mother standing at around 5 foot 6 inches, a bonnet secured over her twisting red curls and her body dressed in a tattered brown gown and holey knitted black shawl. She stands always opposite a taller but slightly younger man with shining green eyes and a tint of ginger to his hair which is covered over with a thin dark bandana. His name never changes, though the vision sometimes does. His name is Jean.

Through the dim light of the dark alley they stood in, Jean, raises his two eyebrows high into his brow, in anxiety and dread as he spoke in a thick accent to my mother;

"He doesn't know little Cat is the baby bore from you both, _non_?"

His voice is deep but clean and even through the eccentric brogue he spoke in, every word was clear.

My mother shakes her head, quickly, casting a tender glance down to my feeble little sleeping body. "No," she replied in a croak, stifling back tears, "And neither does Jack. I fear if Fitzwilliam knows he can use it against us both, and I could be putting my child in danger. Jean, ye are the only one that can save us!"

Jean bites down on his thin bottom lip, those bright green eyes in filled with awe and threatened with terror.

"Ye must take care of her until this dies down!" continues my mother, desperately. "3 months and it will be alright, I wager."

He nods, clearly feeling he had no other choice. "Alright, _mon ami_. Young Catherine will be alright with me!"

"No!" my mother suddenly had interrupted, the sweet sound of her voice turning frantic causing the little me to stir in her arms. "Her name must be changed. The last time Fitz and I met I was holding her as a week old infant named Catherine. He could suspect it; ye know how clever those aristocrats can be!"

Jean slowly bobs his head, gradually bringing himself to agree with my mother as she had likely believed he should.

"We name her Catalina," Mother always states, firmly. "Ye are sailing on a Spanish ship, right?"

"Oui…" He always says this single word in the same voice, every time the vision haunts my sleep. He's always almost inaudible.

"Then they shall never suspect it," my mother finishes, bravely, although she was choking back her tears at those very words. This is another thing distinctive to the distant memory; my mother always stands strong…

It then shows my little self being handed delicately into Jean's arms, and a few drops of salty water rolling down my mother's cheeks.

"Hey…" Jean comforts her, softly, "It'll all be fine, Arabella! I assure you, _petite_ Catalina will be back in your arms very soon. She's safe with _ma soeur_ and I…"

My mother nods, unhurriedly, wiping gentle tears from her delicate face. She leans over, hugging Jean for reassurance and minding me in his strong arms.

"Thank ye," she whispers before sensitively kissing in between the few dark hairs on my head. "Don't worry, my kitten," she speaks, ever so sweetly, "I will return for ye… Catalina…"

The distant memory then brought forwards a woman, running up behind Jean, waist length strawberry blond hair hidden beneath a tattered tricorn hat and twin green eyes identical to his shimmering in the moonlight.

"It's clear," she speaks out, softly. "We can smuggle her aboard, but we must leave now!"

My mother is now crying at this point in the terrible scene, holding both hands over her face but they never seem to stop the cries escaping her lips.

"It's okay, Arabella," the new woman always says, with a strange kind of emotion; almost as if she _wants_ to feel sympathetic to my mother but can't. "I promise you, she'll be alright with Jean and I, _oui, mon frére_?"

Jean nods, gently. "Oui," he says in agreement with the woman, who can only seem to be his sister.

I am then handed into her arms. I always seem to stir, as if I'm not comfortable though I know no different.

"Sshh… it's okay," she whispers to me as I mutter nonsense baby talk in my restless sleep. She then looks up to my mother, who is being hugged tightly in Jean's sleeved arms and sobbing silently into his chest.

"We will bring her back, Arabella, don't worry," she states, confident nothing will go wrong, "Jean, we must leave."

Jean nods, shooting Arabella an apologetic and sympathetic smile, white teeth glistening in the night air. "Look after yourself, _oui_?"

My mother murmurs a small "yes", her tears glistening in the moonlight. "Please take care of her, Jean, Constance…"

And then it happens. In Constance's skinny arms I am hurried down the alley way getting further and further away from my mother by the second, both of us beginning to cry…

But it never ends there. Of course it doesn't. An infant being taken from her mother doesn't seem like quite enough tragedy for me.

The next scene of my reverie is at open sea, waves lapping against a huge ship, sailing mightily through the waters as if it owns them. There is a figure, sharing the looks of Constance sans for the fact the long strawberry blond hair is hidden beneath a ragged leather hat, staring out to the ocean.

She always stops, squinting a little before turning on her heals and yelling the words; "Jean! Jean! The Navy!" in a strangely deep voice. She races bellow decks; emerging mere seconds later with her brother close behind, holding me against his chest, protectively.

Constance directs her finger outwards, revealing a small ship in the distance. She thrusts a spyglass into the empty hand of Jean's which he isn't using to embrace me to him and he silently places it to one green eye, squinting the other shut.

He pauses, gazing through it before finishing with a gasp, his mouth forming the shape of an 'O'.

"Protect her!" are his first words, covered in his thick accent, handing me to his sister, using his best attempt at doing it carefully, though he's in too much of a rush to do it properly.

He then runs around the deck, wildly yelling at the crew. No matter how many times I have this dream, I can't work them out. Just things on the verge of 'enemy ship' and 'sail away!'

My mind must skip something then. Jean and Constance are suddenly in a hugely grand cabin filled with majestic and luxurious furniture, though distinctively part of a ship. I am still in Constance's comforting arms, but this time her hair is long, dangling down over my feeble little body. My eyes are wide open, filled with curiosity.

"We will never let you take her!" Constance snarls in her venomous accent at a man sitting before us at a long desk, quill in his bony hand.

"Strangely enough, Constance," the man interjects, rising from his red velvet seat, "I would say you were a lot more social as a cat!"

He approaches her, reaching forwards in attempt to stroke at her cheek. Constance hisses, pulling herself, and my little self, away from the blue uniformed man, her green eyes turning a dark shade with defence.

"Leave her!" snaps Jean, "How can you be so cruel, _mon ami_? What happened to you?"

"I got away from that… that _idiot_, Sparrow!" he replies, maliciously, standing level with Jean, though quite a way taller, smirking at his comeback. He suddenly casts a venomous glance at me;

"Which is more than I can say for you two! I would recognise that child among millions! It is Catherine, Arabella's daughter, am I correct?"

"_Non_!" Constance growls, holding me closer to her. "_Catalina_ is _my _child!"

"Hm… Catalina…" the strange man ponders, clasping his hands tightly behind his back, "I have to say, I prefer it a lot more than Catherine! Though it is blatantly obvious you two are caring for this baby until I give up the hunt on Arabella and Jack, am I correct?"

"Even if you were," speaks Jean calmly in between breaths, "We wouldn't tell you a thing, _oui_ Constance?"

She nods her head, nervously gulping, which is unavoidably clear to hear.

The enemy faced smiles crookedly, "Saying that only implies more to the fact the baby held before me _is_ the daughter of Arabella Smith and, so I believe, Jack Sparrow!" he states, cockily. "Now… if you give her to me, I will, in exchange, let you and your little pirate friends over their go free…"

He outstretches his skinny hand toward Jean, whose lips are pursed together and face red with anger.

"Do we have an accord?" he inquires, his voice slimy and thick with self-pride.

Jean narrows his eyes at him, "You really think I will approve of that, Fitzwilliam?" he spits, heatedly at the nobleman.

"Or I can just take her?" the 'gentleman' suggests, slyly reaching out towards me.

But Constance turns. Not only that, she runs. She sprints to the door, causing me to burst into a fit of strident tears. The door of the cabin is flung open, Jean's cries of "No, _ma soeur_!" trailing after us as we skid along the dripping wood of the deck and into the arms of a hugely muscular sailor.

"You a'right, miss?" he sometimes asks, but not this time. No, this time he holds Constance firm in his gigantic monster hands, every sailor, soldier and man around ignores my distressed screams as their leader marches forwards, Jean being tightly held in a similar way to his sister and forced to follow.

"I admire your courage, Constance," he leans forward, whispering in my guardian's ear as she snarls, breathing cut short with fury. His hands slither downwards, inches from her skin down past her body and down to me. His slimy paws grip onto my tiny body and yank me from Constance's arms, only ending in me bawling louder than before.

"But I can take it from here…" he hisses, holding me un-tenderly far from his chest.

"Leave her!" Jean cries whilst his sister tries to lunge forward to grab me back.

"I must say you two surprise me," the Naval leader laughs, icily. "It's impressive; we could use spirits such as your own on _our_ side… fighting for Sparrow will only result in darkness."

"Jack couldn't be anywhere _near_ as dark as _you_!" Constance breathes, coldly, hair falling down over her now yellow eyes.

Our enemy smirks, his expression coated with self-pride. "Darkness for a light cause can be forgiven, Constance!" he smiles, wryly.

"Not by us!" Jean interjects, irately, "I swear, as long as you have Cat in your possession, we will hunt you down every minute of every second of every day, _comprendre_?"

"A strong speech, Jean," he snickers, "I'm again impressed. But not threatened. Though I will keep my deal; both of your lives can be spared in exchange for the girl. I suppose there is still an ounce of goodness shared in your hearts…"

I've never known what happens next. Before I know it, the visualization moves on and I am in the arms of the enemy, eyes closed and bottom jaw quivering, our ship sailing away, far off calls of my name heard.

"This is great, Admiral," an unctuous old man with a crooked back hisses to the Admiral, rubbing his filthy palms together, "With the kid in yer grasp, ye can finally get t' Sparrow!"

"Yes, it is a promising plan, Mr. Welch," he grins, evilly, "But I think we should wait. Wait until Sparrow has something we really need… and then we can use her to our advantage…"

"Ah, excellent plan, sir!" Welch says, his words slithering around my brain as I am forced to listen to them night by night. "But what are we to do with it until then?"

The Admiral casts a glance down to me. "She'll be a pretty little thing," he states, "Quite like her mother… we shall keep her at my manor until she becomes of age where I shall marry her. 19 years of age difference can't do much harm can it?"

"Indeed not, sir, indeed not," agrees Welch as the two of them retreat from the sight of the distant ship.

Often it ends there. But not always… not tonight… Sometimes I see the dark alley where my mother and Jean stood, three months on.

A slightly ginger haired tall man knocks on the door of a crooked house at the end of a long row of them. It is answered hurriedly by an auburn haired beauty… my mother. She smiles at first, but soon it fades and her glistening light brown eyes turn dark with dread and worry.

"Jean, where's my daughter?" she demands, bottom jaw quivering.

Jean looks up, his green eyes neither bright as usual. His bottom lip trembles a little as he spoke only three words that would bring many tears;

"He's got her…"


	2. Life as a Dalton

**Author's Note****:** **Revised on January 9, 2011 by yours truly, who decided to work on this instead of Biology revision. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter I**_**  
**__Life as a Dalton  
_

I awoke, sweat teeming around my hairline and dripping down my face. I was breathing ridiculously loud, my heart plummeting against my chest, as if it were trying to escape the rib cage it was incarcerated into. I clutched to my torso, as an attempt to stop the thundering of my heart, though the only thing that worked was to inhale deep handfuls the cold air around me.

Eventually reassured, I observed my surroundings, eyes darting through the darkness.

I was in my bedroom. The familiar thick velvet curtains were still draped over the clear glass windows opposite, the firewood was still crackling in the hearth from the night before and, as usual, the locked oak door standing twice as tall as me.

I touched my sweating palms to my face, breathing out a long sigh of relief when I felt the features of a 15 year-old girl instead of a god knows how young baby.

My knees were shaking insanely as I directed my feet to the wooden floorboards in attempt at standing myself upright. A cold stream of the polished wood darted through my bare feet and into my blood stream as I leant over for my gown, sending a horrible tingling through my legs.

I shuddered, wrapping the thick material of my nightgown tight over my body, folding my arms firmly across my chest to hold it in its place. Gazing around the recognizable surroundings, I smiled with sweet relief flooding through my system once more.

I was me. Fifteen year-old Catalina; not a brawling little baby.

Reader, I suppose you are wondering where I am, why I'm there and who exactly I am in the first place? Well, as stated, my name is Catalina. I don't know my biological surname but I do know the name of my guardian. So, considering his title, I am known as Catalina Dalton.

_Lady _Catalina Dalton, to be.

Yes, you've heard correctly; my guardian intends to marry me in a year's time. Actually, it's in precisely nine months and twenty-one days; the day after the birthday I was given.

What a gift! Marriage to a man nineteen years my senior; technically old enough to be my father!

I shuddered beneath my skin just thinking about it. As an attempt of distraction, I turned back to the mirror, combing a hand down through my unruly thick dark hair.

Sans for the fact I didn't want to be, I wouldn't make a good lady of riches; I certainly didn't _look_ like one of the ladies of high-class, that was for certain;

As said, my hair is untameable. My skin is pale, due to the lack of sunshine I'm given being trapped in the house all day and night and I am rather on the short and stocky side for a 15 year old girl.

I measure a short four foot eight inches, and my legs aren't the _longest_ in the world. My legs are… well, quite _large_ for a future lady. Not that I mind, of course; being a Lord's bride isn't really one of my life intentions, to be honest.

But, then again, it wasn't my decision either.

Deep down in my heart, I hoped Fitzwilliam wished me to be perfect; not because I cared what he thought, no, because I knew he would want a bit of a tan on his future bride and would let me out into the streets.

Then maybe, just maybe, I could run from here; run from Fitzwilliam.

Yes, that's him; Lord Fitzwilliam P. Dalton the III. My intended husband and present guardian…

"Catalina? Miss Cat, do open the door, dear!"

I turned abruptly to Alice's voice echoing through the wood of the door. I supposed she had her hands full; she usually just bursts through without giving me a say in it.

I leant for the brass knob, yanking it open to reveal her standing there, her tall skinny figure towering over me, assortments of towels resting in her grasp.

"Good morning, dear!" she smiled, barging past me with no hesitation, laying aside her laundry and flinging open the drapes, the bright sunlight almost blinding me as it poured into my room.

"Good morning, Alice," I replied, politely, casting a glance down to the towels, "Are they for me?"

"Why, yes, dear!" Alice beamed, straightening out her apron, cheerfully. "Lord Dalton expects you to wash and dress finely today; he says he's got a surprise for you!"

I sighed, effortlessly. Surprise? Yes, knowing Fitzwilliam that word means something along the lines of either a new gown or information on an upcoming event. Joy!

My friendly maid, noticing my reaction, sighed sympathetically. "I know you want to get out, Miss," she said to me, softly, "Believe me, I know a fifteen year old girl wants hundreds more than to be tied down to a man more than twice her age… but some of us are just unlucky!"

For no surprising reason, Alice's quote didn't comfort me at all. It just reminded me that I was a fifteen year old girl who was about to be tied down to marriage with a man twice my age even more than I perhaps wanted it to for the time being.

I looked back to confide in her, but her speedy take to her work had already driven her from my bedroom and left her hurtling down the corridors outside my door.

Typical Alice… typical life… I sighed; typical me.

x

I took my time getting ready for my 'heart-to-heart' meeting with Fitzwilliam. I insisted on dressing myself for a change instead of the demanding maids pushing me into letting them do it, knowing that the strings of the corset would be a mission of their own to do up.

I then brushed my hair thoroughly through, messing it up again at least twice so I could take my time in doing it again.

It wasn't that often I meet Fitzwilliam face to face; in fact, I believe our last meeting was about a week ago, which is rather odd for two people who live in the same home. But then again, I _do _usually only have a room or two to visit during an average day.

Although, I couldn't fight it anymore; I just had to confront him.

Admittedly, I was a little scared. No, not a little scared… _more_ than a little. Fitzwilliam isn't a bad-tempered man… but he is one to be cautious of. And I think I'm just a naturally very cautious person.

"Miss, Lord Dalton is waiting in the dining hall for you," Alice announced, poking her head around the door with a smile playing on her thin lips.

"O-okay…" I stammered. My anxiety wasn't meant to be so noticeable. I didn't want to come off as a nervous wreck to any of the maids at all.

But, this wasn't the moment in time to care.

I trailed after Alice, glumly, clenching my beige coloured skirts in my tight in my hands as I followed. I tried to walk slower, but my legs just seemed to go their own way as I wracked my brain.

What could Fitzwilliam want? Why was it so urgent? Why… why can't he just let me outside?

I then ground my teeth together; I would ask. Maybe he would reply kindly, and allow me out of his narrow slits of eyes for once. Although as I thought of what to say, my legs and bare arms began to tremble.

Before I could control myself, Alice had forced open the huge doors to the dining hall. The long table usually ate at was empty, only a thin lace table cloth flung over it and a fresh bunch of blooming flowers in a glass vase rested in the centre.

The room was beautiful, no doubt about it. But, there was one thing that couldn't help shivers to race down my spine, pricking up the slender hairs on my back.

"Lord Dalton, I have your… erm…" Alice started. She never knew what to name me in relation to Fitz. Daughter? Bride? Ward?

"I have Catalina here, sir," she eventually decided on, her smiley expression turning sour as if she'd just bitten whole into a lemon.

"Thank you, Alice," Fitzwilliam replied, coldly, emotionlessly. "Please leave us."

I shuddered again as Alice swept from the room. It suddenly turned much, much colder and I felt like I couldn't hold my body up. My legs were shaking too much, I felt like I would collapse into a heap on the floor.

"Hello Catalina, darling," Fitzwilliam started, slimily. "Did you sleep well?"

"Y-yes…" I lied. Of course I didn't. I _never_ sleep well! Visions of him always stealing me from my family and friends are sometimes too haunting to sleep through.

"I suppose you're wondering why I asked you down here?" he inquired of me, striding forwards across the marble floors to reach my frozen body.

"Y-yes…" I repeated, solemnly. Well, at least that one wasn't a lie…

"I've thrown a ball, my dear," he responded, slight excitement lingering in his voice. "To announce our engagement. You like balls don't you, Catalina?"

I nodded, eyes widening as I could feel his presence behind me. "Y-yes, sir…"

He heard his lips curl up into a smile. "Good. It will take place tomorrow evening. I have sent Samuel to fetch you a new gown. White lace will suit you finely, don't you agree?"

Reader, I can assure you, you have no idea how much I wanted to respond with 'no'. But I couldn't. I knew how powerful this man could be – I knew I definitely didn't want to get on the wrong side of him.

I just nodded, slowly. "But, sir, may I inquire as to why you intended for me to dress finely for this meeting?" I brought myself to ask, trying to sound as polite as possible, although I knew my voice was shaking uncontrollably.

Fitzwilliam smirked as he came into my line of vision once again; his curling blond hair kept neat and face as thin as ever.

"I always insist on my women looking easy on the eye…" he replied.

I began to tremble. Looking down at myself, I could see it was unquestionably visible. I had to get out of there before I collapsed into a limp pile on the cold floor.

"Please, sir, may I leave?" I begged, trying to swallow my fear.

I was relieved when he nodded, though he seemed to take his time in coming to a decision.

"Yes, you may," he spoke, his voice slithering through the air and coiling around me like the slimy snake he was. "Inform Alice of the occasion."

I nodded, eager to escape, to get back to my bedroom and lock myself there.

As soon as I was out of the dining hall, I ran. I ran as fast as I felt my trembling legs could take me. I felt like tears were about to stream down my cheeks. I didn't want to be so terrified of Fitzwilliam. I wish I could be brave, and tell him straight all the things kept in my mind.

But I knew I would never be able to do that.

He overpowers me. Sometimes so much I'm scared to even breathe near him.

Once inside my room, I slammed shut the door and tugged the brass lock shut. I collapsed against it, shivering as if it were snowing. I hated it so much. I hated it too much I could barely bring myself to believe my hatred was real.

Eventually, I scrambled to my feet, trembling as I made my way to a small desk shoved in the corner of my bedroom.

I opened a book; a dark red leather covered one with sewn in golden patterns and turned to the first of the thin pages.

I'd never found anything to write in it since today. Since this very second.

Reaching for a short quill and dabbing it recklessly into a pot of gloomy ink and scribbled down the very words;

_12th January, 1747_

_I spoke to Fitzwilliam today. He's throwing a ball; one of the many things about this place I can't stand. I must attend it as his fiancé. We are to marry shortly, but I don't think I can cope with this much longer._

_I will make plans. All the household will be busy at the ball, so I believe that will be the time I can slip out of this wretched place._

_I understand I may get caught, but I also understand, I may not. I have to speak to Sam before the day is out. He will understand. He can find out if there are any ships sailing out tomorrow evening._

_If this doesn't work, I will just except that I am to become Lady Catalina Dalton._

_This is my only hope._

_Sincerely,  
Cat._

* * *

**Author's Note****:** **I'm not sure when Pirates of the Caribbean was meant to be set, but I took a guess that it was around the late 1740's. Seems about correct, no? **


	3. Preparing

**Author's Note****:** **Slow/short-ish chapter in which I apologise for! Enjoy, nonetheless! Revised on January 9. 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter II**_**  
**__Preparing  
_

I didn't really move for a few hours or so at the least.

I _couldn't_ move. I was frozen to my seat with fear. I'd never been more scared of marriage to this hideous monster in my life. _People _would be at the ball. _People_! These people would laugh at me.

'_Oh, that poor girl_!' I can hear their voices taunting me. '_Poor girl, having to be tied down to a man such as Lord Dalton. Ah well, better her than me! Anybody up for more punch?_'

That's right. Worry about your _punch_ more than the future of a helpless girl. God, Fitzwilliam will be expecting children soon… _No_, I can't do this.

I brought myself to stand up, legs still trembling insanely. Fitzwilliam must _know_! He must be _positive_ I'm scared out of my mind. Maybe he likes that in 'his women' too. Sam's on my side. He believes me.

Well, I think he does. I _hope _he does.

I sighed, thinking of my ginger-haired best friend. We hardly see one another any more, but he never fails to pass by my room for a talk whenever he's delivering anything to Lord Dalton. He passes by my window too. Thank goodness the thing opens! I'm not sure Fitzwilliam knows about that little detail, and I'm not eager on telling him; he'd have it locked and the key thrown to Davy Jones' Locker.

I figured Sam would be here soon to deliver my new dress to Fitzwilliam. I could ask him to help me get out of this mess before it's too late.

Before I was to be married.

Before I was to be eternally doomed.

Once again, I heaved a sigh. I wasn't planning any further than asking Sam for a passage away from this place. I _knew_ I'd be searched for and I _knew_ I could be putting other people's lives in danger.

I also knew I wanted freedom.

And I also knew, glancing out of my window, Sam was on his way up here, right now…

x

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

It's strange. I could recognise the tone of Sam's knock against millions. There are things you notice when you're trapped. It's pathetically sad in a strange way.

"Sam!" I practically yelled his name, throwing open the heavy door, ignoring the struggle of it.

Seeing him in the doorway made me smile. I couldn't stop myself from hurling my short build at his 6 foot muscled one, burying my face into his chest.

"Um… 'ello, Cat," he said in his thick cockney brogue. "Excited for Lord Dalton's ball, are we?"

I pulled myself away, gazing up at Sam's slightly smirking face, beginning to gnaw on my bottom lip. "I don't want to go Sam," I let my words flow; "I don't want to marry him. I don't want to be here…"

Sam watched me. Sometimes I feel he's not the most confident around Lord Dalton either. I mean _Sam_ – Sam in all his brawn and strength! In fact, I'm not sure anyone's entirely secure around Fitzwilliam. I think a part of him is so overpowering, I haven't met a single being with at least a small part of them dedicated with fear to the Lord.

"I know, Cat," he muttered, blankly. "But ya could always decline his offer, ya know? Offer to marry ya?"

I shook my head, feebly. "I already agreed," I whispered in such a small voice it was hardly audible. "I'm too scared of him to disagree with anything he says. He's stolen my life and won't give it back, Sam… I don't know what else to _do_!"

I _did_ know what to do. I knew I had to run away. But I was putting off telling Sam that… it must just be in my nature to be a coward.

"Ya do make a point," he agreed with me, "It seems whatever ya do, 'e's not gonna back off on ya, Cat. If only we knew why…"

Slightly, my eyes widened. Should I tell him about the dream? No. It's probably not even true… just a fragment of my imagination… but I was certain I had to say something linking to my 'escape';

"Sam?"

He turned to me; clearly he was plotting something of some sort too. "Mmm?" he replied, chewing on his thumb-nail.

I inhaled, deeply. "I… if there's a distraction at the ball tomorrow then… I can…"

Why couldn't I finish that sentence? I suppose I was just waiting for Sam to realize where I was going with this. Thankfully, he did; though his reply didn't sound as promising as I had suspected;

"Look, Cat, I know ya wanna get outta 'ere, but that's really not the way t' do it…" he responded, dryly.

I felt like my heart was sinking. "But, Sam, there's no other way," I retorted in such a small voice I could barely hear myself speak.

To my relief, he nodded in agreement, but he was still unconvinced, I could see.

"So, yer too scared to say 'no' to the man, but yer not a tiny bit frightened of runnin' away from 'im?" He stopped here to scratch beneath his untameable ginger hair, "It don't make any sense, Cat!"

Now it was my turn to argue. "It does. If I say 'no' to his face, I'm scared of what he'll do to me. If I say 'no' by fleeing from him, the worst he can do is chase after me!" I thought it was a strong argument, but trust Sam to have a comeback;

"And then when 'e catches you, 'e'll just do what he would've done to ya if you just said 'no' to 'is face! It's a stupid plan, Cat. You just leave it t' me; I promised ya I'd come up with somethin', remember?"

I couldn't avoid that part; he _did_ promise. He promised he'd get me out of here and away from Fitzwilliam… but he hadn't yet found out how, when the solution was right in front of him the whole time.

I coughed back my words. "Y-you're right, Sam," I finally brought myself to say, "I won't go. I'll stay here. I'll wait for you to get me out of this mess."

I was lying. I could analyse it with no doubt. I've never been a good liar; but it was this time Sam didn't detect anything.

He just smiled at me, proudly. "Good on ya, Kitten," he announced. "I better go before I 'ave ya changin' yer mind on me."

A wink of his blue eye was flashed in my direction as he turned for the door. I hated seeing Sam leave; he was the only friend I have… and now he was the friend I had to leave behind.

I clenched my fists together, gnawing on my bottom lip so it would seem I was attempting to cut through the skin as the door slammed shut on me. For once, I didn't care what Sam thought; he obviously didn't know how terrible and nerve-wracking it actually was to be trapped; doomed to marry a man who I was certain had so much power within him, he could destroy kingdoms… perhaps even _countries_!

And I _would_ escape him; I don't even care what might happen to me.

I began to sweat with anxiousness thinking about it. I would have no distractions at the ball to sneak out… unless I provided one myself, of course… Then – say if I did manage to sneak out – where was there to go?

I could go down to Cornwall, I suppose… somewhere by the coast where no-one would be able to trace my tracks if I got on a ship there to take me to the Caribbean… I'd decided a long time ago I would go to the Caribbean if I got away from England… something seems to have drawn me there… I can't even be sure why… It must just be somewhere in my blood.

I shook my head, inhaling sharp breaths. I _could _get away from here… maybe the idea was extreme and unlikely to work… but that doesn't mean it _couldn't_.

My planning would need a little work, but I had tomorrow night to plan… and why should I sleep? All I would do is dream terrible dreams of how he took me from my mother, of how he ruined my life.

Although, I could debate, I may dream about how I could change this life I was tied to.


	4. The Ball

**Author's Note:** **Revised on January 9, 2011. Happy reading! :3**

* * *

**Chapter III**_**  
**__The Ball  
_

"Um… Alice?"

My friendly maid glanced up at me after smoothing out the many creases stained into my new white ball gown. I didn't mention to her my corset had my ribs so tightly compacted to my lungs I was struggling to breathe.

"Yes, dear?"

I bit my lip. How would I tell her I was – if everything went to my newly figured plan, that is – would never see her again. I lightly shuck my head, yet again cowering away from it.

"Um… thank you…" I finally muttered, cursing myself inside.

She looked up again, her large blue eyes blinking once in confusion. "Whatever for, m'dear?" she queried, pulling herself to her feet, straightening out her own skirts crumpled by years of work.

"For… being such a good maid?" I finished, sceptically. I again cursed myself for the questioning tone to my shaky voice. Luckily, I knew Alice well; she was obviously going to accept any sort of flattery.

She smiled, sweetly; it was times like these I considered not leaving due to the things I would miss. I had made a mental list earlier which simply consisted of two things:

Sam and Alice.

"Why, thank you, Cat," she blushed, her golden face blushing pink. "I'll see you later after Lord Dalton's ball. It'll take a lot out of you, I suppose; I'll make you a nice warm mug of tea."

I smiled, politely as she turned for the door, bundling the black hairs fallen astray from her neat bun back behind her ears. I sighed when it closed shut behind her. I really would miss Alice; to think, that was the last thing she would ever say to me…

"_No!"_ I hissed, mentally, holding back the tears which I could sense were about to roll. _"You can do this. You can do this. You can do this."_

I repeated the words again and again until I had myself set in the right frame of mind. I exhaled, weakly. My chest was aching, my head was swimming… it was different to what I thought preparing for an escape would feel like… it was guilt.

I couldn't abruptly leave without warning Sam or Alice.

I ducked to the ground without a second thought, tugging out my satchel in which I'd packed and shoved under the bed before Alice came to check on me as her routine was to do every morning.

I tore it open, rummaging carefully for the few belongings I'd packed; my shabbiest dress, a small blanket, a shawl I would use to wrap around my hair, a few useless possessions I was fond of and, finally, my dark red book I decided I would keep as a diary.

Whilst planning last night, I decided I would continue to write it whilst on my travels so I could show Sam if I ever returned. I know it sounds stupid, but it doesn't matter to me.

I yanked it out, recklessly, flung to the back cover and tore out a couple of pages I knew I would never get to. I clutched tightly onto my quill and ink, smearing the sharp tip in the gooey substance, suddenly in a rush.

_Dear Alice,_ I scribbled on the first of the pages, sitting cross legged on the cold wooden floor.

_I know this is unexpected, but I'm sure you must have realized by now I am gone. I will not have my life snatched from Lord Dalton's hands as he has taken enough from it already. _

_Please, do not tell him where I am headed. I will write it, as I need you to tell Sam for me; if he wishes, he can come and meet me. I doubt, though, he actually will._

_I am headed down to Cornwall. There, I will catch a boat sailing to the Caribbean. I'm sure Fitzwilliam will not be able to track me if you keep this information to yourself and tell no-one but Sam._

_I will miss you, Alice. You have been a good friend to me. I will never forget you. I promise._

_Thank you for everything you've done for me._

_Cat._

I scanned over the words, hastily, allowing myself no time to check for any errors of any kind. Carefully, I folded my note and slipped it beneath my bed covers, just underneath my pillow.

I was nervous, undoubtedly. Too petrified to think of the plan going wrong at this moment in time. Well, when I say 'plan' I mean the start of the one my mind produced for me.

The outline was simple; I would go down to Cornwall and catch a boat – preferably a fast one – to the Caribbean. I had tried not to worry about the millions of little details in between, but now they were crowding around me, menacingly.

How would I get to Cornwall? Walking would take to long; long enough for Fitzwilliam to get on my trail at least. And what of the Caribbean? Where would I go? Which island?

"_The first one I find,"_ I answered myself, honestly. Yes, that would work. It wouldn't matter _where_ I went just as long as no-one could find me once there. I would figure out the other little details later.

Now, I didn't have time.

I had a ball to attend.

x

"… And, _this_ is my wife, the Duchess of Avon."

I wasn't listening one bit to the Duke Fitzwilliam and I were forced to greet. And what was worse, I had to meet all of his friends whilst clinging onto _his _arm.

"A pleasure, m'lady," Fitzwilliam smirked, bringing the young Duchess's white gloved hand to his thin, twisted lips.

She curtsied, smiling back more forced than a natural instinct. "I would say the same, Lord Dalton," she nodded, curtly.

I couldn't help but stare at her; she was beautiful and young, perhaps 5 or so years elder than me. She definitely deserved more than the man on her arm; cleanly shaven though clearly almost 20 years her senior.

Now doesn't that remind me of a certain situation.

I let out a quiet sigh, trying not to draw any attention to myself; I wouldn't turn out like the young blonde wife before me. I tried not to glance into her eyes. I tried not to look for the pain inside them that showed her begging for freedom which I was certain was swimming around deep around my own brown orbs.

Fitzwilliam then decided to interrupt my thoughts, rudely. "Oh, forgive my manners; this is my _fiancée_, Catalina."

The Duke of Avon took my bare knuckles to his lips, his grin just as sinister as Fitzwilliam's.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, _m'lady_," he spoke, pronouncing my new title with a strange kind of emotion I couldn't analyze. I felt the blood pumping around my veins as I nervously gripped my lace skirts and bobbed into a curtsy.

"T-the pleasure's all mine, s-sir," I barely whispered, unsuccessfully trying to stop the stutter in my voice.

My bottom lip was still quivering when I had spoken my words. I could feel the Duchess's eyes fixated on me and the Duke's sour laugh rung in my ears. I couldn't take this for much longer.

"E-excuse me," I stammered, gripping my elegant gown in my pale hands and turning for the nearest door I could find. I was relieved when I found myself face to face with shelf after shelf stacked with hundreds of books piling high to the ceiling.

The library. The _empty_ library.

I let a few tears escape my fighting eyes as I moved for the closest seat, collapsing onto it with no grace which a future lady would be expected to possess. I buried my head into my hands, forcing myself not to whimper, not to cry. Someone would hear me.

I would just have to suffer in complete silence as I had done for so long now. What harm could a few moments do? I just had to find a way out of here before the ball was out.

I had decided I didn't need a distraction; everyone would be to busy to notice if I slipped out a window of an empty room… such as this one…

My satchel hanging beneath the overly large skirts of my gown suddenly weighed a hundred pound tied around my waist.

Was it a sign? True, there was a window in the library… would I fit through that very window? Was it my cue to escape from this wretched place forever?

I didn't even answer that question.

I headed toward it with no second thought, gnawing on my bottom lip with determination. I gripped the cold edge of the glass pane. It tingled my fingertips with the rush of freezing energy draining into my system as I heaved it open, using all the strength invested in me.

The cold air drained in through the formed gap in the wall, washing over my body and tugging at my dark hair. I pulled as much of it into my lungs as I could, breathing out gradually, leaving a sweet sensation in my mouth.

My whole body began to quiver, though it wasn't caused by the sharp breeze; more so, it was the thrill of fresh air… of freedom running through my veins at top speed. I could feel it. I was so close. All I had to do was climb from that window and I was to go on my own way.

My heart was pulsing as I lifted the many papery skirts draped over my legs high over my knees, raising my leg as the first step of my escape route. I placed my foot carefully onto the windowsill, preparing myself to jump from my prison forever…

On three, I would jump…

"_One_._" _I bit my teeth tight into my bottom lip, slightly smirking to myself.

"_Two." _I inhaled a deep breath, pushing my good byes to this place to the back of my mind.

"_Three…"_

"Catalina?"

I yelped, collapsing backwards at the sudden voice ringing through my ears. My heal ripped itself free from its position caught on the stone windowsill, causing me to whimper with pain.

I chewed my lip again, though this time a lot harder in attempt to stop myself from screaming out. My foot stung. My shoe had gone and, craning my head, I could see I now possessed a large cut on my pale heal, blood dripping excessively from it, staining the fringe of my white gown.

"Oh, good gracious, what on Earth happened?" a musical voice exclaimed before a frantic slam of the library door and delicate footsteps heading my way.

It was the Duchess. The Duchess of Avon was glancing down at my sprawled out position on the floor, her beautiful face stricken with horror.

"Please," I chocked as she hauled me up to my aching feet, "it's not how it… I'm not trying to-"

"Shh…" she hissed, daintily, holding a long gloved finger to her pink lips. She flashed her shimmering ocean eyes at me, almost sympathetically. "It doesn't matter to me you were trying to escape, Catalina…"

She paused here to heave an elegant sigh of her very own;

"If anything, I should be forcing you from this window as we speak…"

I glanced at her, wincing slightly from the pain of my newest injury; I knew precisely what she meant, I was just waiting for her to explain. I braced myself as she perched herself neatly on the edge of the closest seat, again taking in a deep breath.

"I suppose you know what I'm about to tell you, Catalina," she said in hardly more than a whisper. Her sparkling blue eyes were twisted away from me but I was certain they had turned darker with sorrow. She rapidly stopped and glimpsed up at my ghostly pale face.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized, "you aren't hurt are you?"

"No," I lied, briskly, hoping she would fall for my terrible lies just as easily as Alice.

She nodded. I could almost hear a slight gulp travel down her throat as she folded her bony hands across her lap. I waited in silence for her to begin her story. It was probably the impatience I could feel in my presence that finally made her begin;

"Well, I think it's fair to say we're in the same situation here, Catalina. I see it very much in your eyes you do not love Lord Dalton as people due to be married should do… I was in your position too…"

My mind leapt from my escape. My eyes, I could feel, were widening as I prepared myself again for the Duchess's tale. She inhaled yet another sharp breath of the musty air around us and continued;

"My father was an officer of the Navy. He didn't wish for me to marry my love, Paul, a lowly carpenter, but he also didn't want me to be tied to a man twice my own age. My mother, however, disagreed. We were poor, even for a man of Father's kind. The Duke of Avon offered…" She paused; the words were troubling her, I could tell.

"He would _pay_ my family for his hand in marriage…"

She glanced up to search my expression; I suppose she wasn't surprised to find me dumbfounded. How could a man _do_ such a thing? But, I realized, (my heart to thud unstoppably wild beats hard against my chest, at the very thought) that her mother must've _agreed_ to this…

A shiver wormed its way down my spine.

The Duchess nodded, bleakly, hardly any emotion portrayed on her smooth face.

"Paul was as distraught as I was when Mother agreed to this. Father didn't have the patience to argue with her for too long, so it wasn't long before my only hope was gone. But Paul refused to believe me when I told him.

"'Marie, if you don't love me, you could say'," she mimicked Paul's words with tears sparkling in her almond eyes. "'You don't have to blame it on that man! If you love him more than you've ever loved me, then it would be the decent thing for me to let you go…'"

I felt sympathy spark through my limp body as the Duchess sighed, desolately. There was nothing she could now do, I realized as she skimmed through the rest of her story, highlighting as much details as she could bring herself to. Although, I was convinced I'd already heard enough.

Paul would never love her again. And it was all because of her so-called husband. It wasn't sadness flooding through my veins anymore; it was anger. The Duchess's life had been ruined and she was obviously begging me not to relive her mistakes.

She didn't want me to become Lady Catalina Dalton as much as I did. She wanted me to be _free_…

"Paul's married now," she concluded in a weak voice, "his wife is _expecting_."

"I-I'm so sorry," I stammered, yet again having to choke out my words. My throat was thick with emotion, stinging every time I swallowed, every time I spoke…

She shook her head, dabbing a finger to her eye, blocking the tears from draining out. "Don't be," she told me firmly. "But Catalina… I'm aware of the dangers, but I want you to leave. To leave and never come back…"

My legs were trembling. Although we both knew too well that doing the very thing was my intention before the Duchess entered the room, it seemed like a new plan fresh in my mind.

I swiftly nodded. She smiled at me, rising to her feet in order to pull me into a tight hug. It was strange; we'd known each other for hardly any time at all, yet already we felt like friends. I embraced her back, almost feeling a small smile play on my lips.

"Thank you, ma'am," I curtsied once free, bobbing down my head in respect to her.

"No, Catalina. I want my last memory of you to be addressing me as Marie," she half clarified, half asked me, the sparkle and shine flooding back into her bright eyes.

I hardly moved my head, but I could tell I was nodding.

"Thank you, Marie," I whispered, suddenly feeling the need to drop undercover, "thank you with all my heart. G-good bye…"

"Good bye, Cat," Marie wished me, the sudden gust of cold wind slightly tugging her immaculate blonde hair out of place.

I flashed her a smirk I'd never felt appear on my face before; slightly crooked… giving the impression that if I had gold molars, the moonlight would sparkle on every single one of them. It was… a smile of happiness…

I didn't want to leave it there with the Duchess; a strange voice on constant play in the back of my mind begged me to take her with me… but I'd heard her say it herself; it was too late for her.

So I did it.

I leapt from the window alone, thanking every bone in my body for not snapping as I tumbled to an odd shaped figure on the ground of bouncy dark grass. No part of me hurt… only my grazed foot, though the pain was disappearing from that too.

I snatched my fallen shoe, tugging it over my toes and carefully over my heal whilst running.

I wasn't sure quite where I was going, but I was sure I didn't care. Not at the moment anyway. The sense of freedom was overwhelming; so much it was difficult to think. I was torn from reality… this had to be a dream.

In reality I was due to be married to Lord Dalton… I wasn't running at full speed across the gardens of his manor home. I wasn't taking my first steps onto the street. I wasn't about to leave the nightmare of my life behind forever…

I shook my head, stifling back laughter. For once, when I forced myself to believe the truth – that I was _free forever _– it didn't produce a huge hole in my chest; it didn't pain me. It was the best feeling I had ever experienced. I had a sweet flowery taste sparkling in my mouth; I couldn't understand why yet I didn't care… it was breathtaking.

Eventually, I glanced around myself; my alley-way surroundings were murky, dark and should have been haunting… but I couldn't feel happier…

I swear I was skipping down the narrow pathway, laughter waiting to flow from my lungs…

I only wish I could have known there would be a something waiting around the corner for me… I suppose surprises aren't so excellent after all.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Oh the suspense ;) Next few chapters will introduce some familiar faces, so keep a weather eye, darlings! :')**


	5. Mugger

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011!**

* * *

**Chapter IV**_**  
**__Mugger  
_

I tried not to scream but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to alert everyone on the street that escaped ward of Lord Dalton was in danger and a few metres or so away from them. Although, a large brute of a hand stopped my cries, cramming over my mouth, muffling them.

I thrashed desperately to get free, though I knew it was no use. If there's something I'll never be, it's strong. Besides, this huge creature had to have just as much muscles as Sam…

_Sam_?

There was no-one with as much strength as him in this small area of London, even I, the ward locked away for her whole life, knew that. But this was without doubt a mugger; Sam would never mug. His father makes enough money with the shop, or so he said.

"S-am?" I chocked, inaudibly into the filthy hand. I was unheard. What could I do, Reader? There was no hope of squirming or fighting… the only thing I could do was to bite his hand or something along those lines… if I wanted to get out of this _dead_.

I felt myself being dragged… he was pulling me away from the light of the moon… What was going to happen to me? Was there any hope? There was still a slight possibility this was Sam… in that case, my life-long best friend wouldn't mind me biting at his hand…

"_EW_!"

Well, spiting had to be as good as biting… it had gotten me free at least!

I pulled in the deepest breath of air I could manage, clasping a feeble hand around my half-choked throat. I wanted to run; what else was there to do? However, my feet were firmly planted to the cobbled ground, not even my trembling legs enough to move them.

"S-Sam?" my voice trembled again. I didn't know if he could hear my small tone over his cursing and muttering, but all the same, he seemed to look up from his now saliva-covered hand.

"Bless me eyes," he whispered, rasping his monstrous hand against the leg of his black breeches. I smiled as he approached me; I could pick out that voice against millions…

"Cat?"

I nodded. A sudden nervousness whisked through my veins. What would Sam do? He'd always been against my escape plans… just… would he be for them enough to not send me back? I inhaled, keeping the oxygen from flooding into my system until my stomach began to ache.

"Sam…" I managed to squeak as he gradually approached me, tugging down his hood to let free his unruly mop of bright ginger hair.

He didn't smile at me. His expression was emotionless. Yet again, I dragged in another breath.

"What are ya doin' out 'ere, Cat?" came his eventual demand, blue eyes flashing at me, sparkling with authority.

Though I knew it was coming, my face still fell and my heart began to pound. "I…" I began to initiate, but he cut me off, the answer too apparent to need an explanation;

"How could ya just run away like that, Cat? Ya know anythin' could've 'appened to ya out 'ere!" I took a short step backwards when I realized he was half-yelling at me, throwing his cloaked arms into the air in exasperation.

My eyebrows furrowed together. "Like being _mugged_?" I hissed, watching his expression suddenly descend in embarrassment.

"I would of told ya," he muttered, fixating his glare down at his feet, "Sometimes we 'ave no choice about things, you know, Cat."

_Yes,_ I felt like growling at him. That's exactly the reason I ran away from Fitzwilliam. No choice. If I had stayed, I would become a young bride to a revolting beast of a man. Sam must have grasped this, his angry appearance immediately turning apologetic.

"Sorry," he said, drawing another step closer to me. "'Course ya don't 'ave a choice about things either. I didn't mean it in that way."

I shook my head. "I know you didn't, Sam. It probably is a shock seeing me out here-" I was interrupted by his scoff of agreement; "- but you _had_ to have seen it coming! Did you really think I'd condemn myself to a life with that monster?"

He tossed his head from side to side, vigorously but no words were to follow.

I exhaled, heavily, debating with myself whether or not to bring up the question on my mind. "Um… Sam?"

Well, it was too late to turn back now…

"Wh-" I paused, Sam's eyes falling on me, watching intently. "Why are you… mugging?"

Sam glimpsed away, stepping ever so slightly back into the thick darkness of the shadows. I could tell he didn't want to talk about it; I shuddered at the thought of upsetting him.

"Just… never mind," I faltered, swallowing the lump lingering in my throat. "You… you can tell me on the way to Cornwall… if… if you want."

I let out a gasp of relief when I could see the horrible question from Sam's mind due to the quick change in his expression. He gaped at me, un-blinkingly, eyes dropping as wide as a whole shilling or so. I could feel a rant coming on.

Maybe it wasn't so relieving after all…

"No, no, no, no, no, _no_!" he began to grumble, burying his face deep into his palms, rotating himself gradually away from me. "Cat… why do ya keep _doing _this to me?"

I froze in confusion, resisting the urge to raise my eyebrow. "C-come again?" I stuttered, hardly sounding as confident as I had wanted. Although I wasn't exactly surprised, seeing as things such as that generally happen to me.

"Keep tryin' to get yerself bleedin' _killed_!" hissed Sam, ruffling his hands recklessly through his tangled mat of ginger locks. "Cat, ya've been inside yer entire life; how on _earth_ are ya gonna defend yerself against all the bloody murderers out there?"

I bit down on my lip. I had no answer to retort with. "Um… sorry?" Oh, great answer, Cat!

Sam glared daggers at me. "It's a bit too late now, ain't it? Look, I ain't gonna take ye to Cornwall, Cat, I better just 'elp ya get back to Lord Dalton's manor; you can sneak on in; the ball probably ain't over, you'll go unnoticed!"

I stood there in disbelief. What was he _thinking_? Sam was the only one who knew my troubles with Fitzwilliam – with the exception of Marie – and yet he was trying to take me back? I didn't quite believe it myself until I felt his huge hand clasp around my wrist and myself being dragged across the dirty pathway.

I wasn't having this.

"No, Sam! Please!" I yelped, doing the only thing I could do to attempt to get free: beg. "I don't want to go back; you of all people know that! I _know_ I won't be able to protect myself, that's why I asked _you_ along! Sam! Please let _go_ of me!"

We paused. I was unsure if the grip on my feeble little wrist was loosening or tightening. I shifted slightly on my feet. I wish I could hear Sam's thoughts at times like this; what was he contemplating? Would he really take me back… _there_?

Ugh. I shuddered just thinking about it.

I eventually managed to smile slightly as I finally heard Sam gradually exhale the air he'd held up in his lungs. He spun on his heals, eyes widened as he glanced into mine.

"Cat, I ain't stayin' with you in Cornwall. I'll take ya there, sure, but I ain't stayin'. When we get there, I'll find a nice little old lady or someone who can take ya in, but I won't be there with ya forever, ya understand me?"

I nodded; to be honest, his words hadn't surprised me. And, truthfully, I'd only wanted him to get me there anyway; I'd dread to think what he would do if he knew I would be catching a ship there to the Caribbean! He'd take me back to Lord Dalton without doubt.

"C'mon," Sam suddenly spoke up, concentrating his grip on my little hands, "It's gonna be a whole lot easier if we get taken by carriage."

I didn't think about it as I usually would have. I just ran along with him as Sam dragged me through the streets. I didn't even stop to breath in the smoky scent of the air; it wasn't so different or so wondrous anymore. It was ordinary. This was where I belonged, I was certain of it. Anywhere else, even the place I had spent almost 15 years of life in would be wrong. I was safe here.

Home.

Well, more at home running through the wilderness than sitting in my bedroom, waiting for a forced marriage to a monster.

I didn't know how long we were running; I didn't even get a shooting pain through my stomach as I had experienced the last time. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but it was also fair to say I didn't care.

I felt a slight pang of regret when we slowed to a walk. Running felt more like freedom. However, regret turned into confusion when I took the time to glance around myself; we were in the middle of nowhere. Though I didn't know what to expect, I'd assumed a bunch of carts pulled up in a street somewhere.

But here, the only building in sight was a barn half a mile off.

"Sam, where are we?" I whispered.

"Carts go by 'ere every 'alf an hour or so. You'd 'ave to be ruddy unlucky to _not _catch one, Cat."

"Oh," was all I could mutter in reply.

The wind danced passed us, grabbing and tugging at my clothes and hair, stinging at my cheekbones and bare flesh. I shivered. Sam looked down at me, though said nothing. By that glance on his face, I knew he was worrying about me; afraid I would freeze into a block of ice beside him, for instance. I simply rolled my eyes and slumped down onto the cold midnight grass, my back slamming against a wooden pole.

I suppose all the running caught up with me after all. As soon as I hit the cool sward, I could hardly keep my eyes open, the chirping of the crickets renovating from an annoying melody into a peaceful lullaby…

"Ye're tired," Sam suddenly stated.

My fallen eyelids shot open, eyes converting un-attuned to the shadowy night. "No… I'm resting."

He laughed ever so slightly, so it sounded more like a puff of air than a humoured giggle.

"Go to sleep, Cat," he murmured, "I'll carry ya in when the carriage comes."

"I'm not tired," I confirmed, wrenching back a yawn, "and I'm too heavy for you."

Another puff of a laugh. Sam's noises and sounds began accustomed into the cricket's lullaby.

"Ya barely weigh more than small sack of flour, Cat," he notified me, firmly. He obviously meant the small sacks which hardly weighed anything; I'd seen Lord Dalton's chefs dragging in sacks of flour with sweat prickling down their foreheads.

But then again, that would probably weigh less than a feather to Sam.

Stupid thoughts like this swam around in my mind for what seemed to be hours. My eyes were closing, my body relaxing, shutting itself down. But my mind didn't stop. It whispered to me, most of the sentences and words combining together in all the wrong ways. I wasn't thinking clearly; my brain shutting down with tiredness along with my limbs.

However there was one thing; one thing that I could pick out from between and beneath the strange speeches and visions.

A man staring out over the horizon. A man with thick dreadlocks entwined with beads and trinkets. A man smirking for no apparent reason as he crammed a tricorn leather hat onto his head.

A man who just seemed rather too familiar...


	6. Recognition

**Author's Note:**** Again, this chapter was revised on January 9, 2011! At the time it was originally written, it was my longest chapter ever written for this site... as I gathered from my crazy, capitalised previous author's note. ;)**

* * *

**Chapter V**_**  
**__Recognition  
_

I wasn't sure what happened; how I got from Fitzwilliam's mansion to the backseat of a black carriage is all a blur now. When I opened my eyes, it was no longer midnight; I was no longer resting on the cool emerald grass but sprawled out on a wooden bench beneath the shelter of a black arch.

I was enclosed in a moving carriage, covered by cloaks and blankets which were from… well, I didn't even know myself. I could feel Sam's presence near me which suddenly comforted my nerves.

"You up, Cat?" he whispered to me; I'd obviously been stirring or let out a moan of some kind as I came back into consciousness.

"Yes," I replied, groggily, slowly rising from my position. "Where are we?"

"On the way to Penzance, Cornwall," Sam breathed; it was only then I realized his voice was so quiet, he was barely audible.

"Why are you whispering?" I queried, lowering my voice to match his raspy tone. "Is there something wrong? What's happening?"

He shook his head firmly, blue eyes wide and unblinking. He hadn't slept, I could see from the black rings beneath his usually sparkling orbs.

"No, no, nothin', Cat. Everythin's fine, don't ya worry. It's just I'm a little wary of the driver out there. I 'ad to give 'im fake names so when Lord Dalton learns of yer escape, 'e can't trace our little journey to get to ya!"

Sam was speaking ever so quietly, I could hardly hear him. But I simply nodded along, hoping he would explain everything once we got to Penzance.

"As far as 'e knows, I'm a Mr. George Blakely and yer my little sister, Miss Jane Marianne." He paused as our driver's whip cracked against the sharp wind. I cringed as I heard the whiny of a horse in distress. I hoped it wasn't hurting them too much in getting Sam and I to Cornwall.

I nodded, weakly. "W-what are you paying him with?" I asked, my voice shuttering a little.

Sam shrunk his hand into his pocket almost instantly. He rummaged through, coins clanging together, paper scrunching up against the rough material of his grey breeches. He eventually stopped, dragging out several gold pendants, dangling elegantly from shimmering chains. A gasp caught in my throat; they must have cost a fortune. A few were even sparkling with bright emeralds and sapphires.

I stared at them in a trance until it snapped in my brain were Sam had clearly gotten these beautiful pieces of elegant jewellery from.

"You… You stole them," I choked out.

He shrugged, ever so slightly. "Think of it like this, Cat. It was pick pocketing. In the middle o' busy St. Dunstan's last Saturday. The victims were them rich snobs who 'ave it all and still want more. I took a few chains, aye, but it were for a good cause; I'm saving yer life with these chains, in a way. I know it were wrong, but it were also right. Them folk 'ad it comin' to 'em!"

I wanted to argue, but I couldn't. Yes, I mentally forced myself to agree. They had it coming to them…

"Um… Cat?"

I glanced at his tired face, feeling a slight pang of guilt. Poor Sam was having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Yes?"

"Ya don't mind if I nod off fer a bit, do ya? I ain't slept for hours; I wanted to tell ya about our names and stuff before I slept, so ye didn't blow our cover. But turns out you sleep for a heck of a long time!"

I blushed. "Sorry."

He just smirked, shaking it off within the blink of an eye. "Nah, don't you worry about it," he mumbled, shrugging himself into the corner of the carriage, "By the looks o' things, Cat, it seemed like the best sleep you've 'ad in _years_."

"It _was_," I agreed in mid-yawn.

"That's what I hoped," Sam said, softly, his dark eyelids fluttering closed. "'Night, Cat."

"Goodnight, Sam," I whispered.

I didn't have to wait long to hear his peaceful snores. Practically within the click of a finger, he was asleep, which surprisingly seemed to amaze me.

I fidgeted in my seat, shooting quick glances at Sam. He looked so restful… so peaceful… If I didn't know any better, I would have figured from his position that he was lifeless… dead.

I was just thankful for the fact I did know better; if it wasn't for Sam… well, I don't know what would have happened to me. No, I do… I would be still engaged to Fitzwilliam and lonely… if it wasn't for Sam, I would have given up my escape plan long ago. He protected me… he was the reason I was still alive in a way.

I owed him my life. That was certain.

Carefully, I curled myself back up in my seat again. I realized I didn't want to stay awake if Sam wasn't awake with me. I flinched as I heard the crack of the driver's whip once more. I felt like I knew him; he wasn't gentle or kind… it wasn't safe for me to be alone with him.

I wanted to sleep; to escape this place.

I forced shut my eyes, and tried to relax, letting the fatigued feeling from last night fall back over me. It really wasn't too hard; besides, I'd forced sleep upon myself for fifteen years…

I knew what I was doing.

x

Penzance.

It really was like no where I'd seen before; the sun was golden yellow, shining down on the bright blue ocean and reflecting across the streets and town. Like a fairytale. Just like the beautiful little villages in Alice's stories.

I stood in silence as I watched Sam drop his golden chains into our driver's open hands, polite smiles plastered across both their faces.

It had taken two days at the most to get to our destination; I had to admit, although his attitude wasn't something to desire, our driver _had_ treated us well enough and got us here with no trouble whatsoever. He even sacrificed the time he could have spent asleep and resting to drive us through the night sky; although the fact Sam had offered extra pieces of shimmering jewellery if we got there in under two days probably didn't go a miss.

I sighed, resting my back against the grey wall of a gown shop, vaguely fluttering shut my eyelids.

Penzance was beautiful and freedom was definitely sweet… but something told me Fitzwilliam was on his way… something told me – no matter how far I ran or how long Sam was around to protect me – he wouldn't stop…

I wasn't safe yet… And who's there to say I ever will be?

"Cat?"

Suddenly, I was brought back into reality. "Huh?" I mumbled, my mouth dry and my head beginning to throb.

"Come on," Sam said to me, gently. "I'll find us a place to stay for the night, eh?"

I nodded, feebly. Tired again? It was hard to believe, really. For most of the journey, I had slept. And now, I felt exhausted yet again. Probably this unbelievable heat had something to do with it… I wasn't used to the outdoors after all.

"We'll just pop in 'ere a minute, Cat," I heard Sam break the silence. I followed his gaze up to a cobblestone shop matching the sandy coloured pattern of the pavement. _Betty's Grocers_, the sign read.

I raised an eyebrow, uncharacteristically. "Why do we need to go in a grocers?" I asked, blankly. I obviously wouldn't admit this to Sam, but in honesty, I had no idea what a grocers was. Reader, I beg you; before you judge me, take into mind that this is the first 'grocery store' I have seen in my _life_. Therefore, how could I know what was inside?

He just smiled down at me. "To get some fruit for the night," he replied, linking his elbow within mine. "Ya look like ye could use some goodness in ya, Cat. Look like a bloody ghost sometimes!"

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn't exactly deny that fact.

However, once we entered the grocery store, I immediately felt a rush of blood straight to my cheeks. It was a shook, I had to admit; I'd never seen so much brightness and colour in my life! Stalls were stacked with rosy red apples, bright yellow bananas and purple plums alongside many lush green vegetables, most of them unrecognisable!

"Sam, can I go and look around?" I inquired, my eyes glittering.

"Uh, sure," he laughed, slightly, "but don't get too excited, Cat; it's just a grocery store!"

I smiled, excitedly. I wasn't even embarrassed to be _skipping_ through the aisles of beautiful greenery. I heard Sam snigger behind me, which only spread my pathetic grin further across my face. The beautiful fresh scent wafted through my nostrils and into my head; it felt like life; I was alive – free – at last…

But suddenly I stopped.

My head began to throb and arms began to sting. I opened my eyes, abruptly, praying whatever had happened hadn't knocked me out clean. I'd dread to think what Sam would say to me; though it's a good quality at time, he is a little too overprotective.

"Sorry, _mademoiselle_, I wasn't looking were I was going," someone spoke to me. I paused, concentrating my vision on a nearby apple to reduce the blurriness. However, that wasn't the only reason I stopped…

I knew that voice. Very vaguely at the least. Where from, I have no idea… It was a French accent – as far as I could tell – though that wasn't the only dialect it was combined with. There was a mix of English and perhaps something else I was unaware of.

I shut my eyes tight, lightly shaking my head from side to side to renovate my sight. Eventually, I blinked up at the towering figure. Everything about him was just too familiar; the ginger hair, the soft green eyes… the intricate accent… Although I couldn't take my memory back; where had I seen him? What was happening?

"Here," he offered, gripping my shaking hand in his own firm grip.

I was slowly hurled to my feet, although it didn't stop my mind from turning and twisting into dizziness yet again.

"Ow…" I mumbled, stumbling weekly to my left side. The stranger tightened his muscled grip on me, steadying my shoulders. He shifted me slightly, clearly trying his best to stable my wobbly posture.

"I feel sick…" I grumbled, half-unaware of what words were pouring from my mouth.

"It's alright, _mademoiselle_," I heard him assure me as my eyes fluttered to a close. "I wasn't looking were I was going, you see. I must've walked into you."

"I was… skipping…" I recalled, re-opening my eyes to the fresh scene around me.

He laughed, ever so slightly. "_Oui_, grocery stores are rather exciting," he said, sarcastically which caused me to stifle a slight giggle of my own.

Yet suddenly, the friendly atmosphere seemed to disappear. The kind stranger was staring at me… at my face, into my eyes… He didn't mean it menacingly, I could tell by the playful – the caring – spark in his emerald orbs… He was staring… out of recognition…

"Cat! Oh, bloody hell, Cat!"

Sam. I had to admit the pang of relief worming its way back into my veins. Sam was here. It was alright. Though it wasn't his intention, my liberator was beginning to frighten me… if only I could glance into his mind… he evidently recognised me as I did him…

"Lord, Cat, what happened to ya?" Sam demanded, wrapping his arms tightly around my shoulders.

"Cat?" The stranger's eyes widened.

A gasp caught in my throat. That was it. He was a worker of Fitzwilliam's. He recognised me. He was going to take me back. He knew my name. I'd obviously seen him when he delivered something or whatever his low-life job was to Lord Dalton. He wanted to turn me in. It was the only possibility.

"Aye, Catherine Bailey," I heard Sam interject, quickly. "She's me little sister. The name's Samuel Bailey."

Admittedly, he was a brilliant liar. A part of me even believed Sam's story, when I was the only one who knew the truth behind it.

"Jean Magliore," our companion introduced. Jean, Jean, Jean… I wracked my brains for a recognition of his name… Alice had told me most of the names belonging to Lord Dalton's workers and most I had remembered thanks to the lack of things I had to _do_ back then. But Jean Magliore… it rang no bells…

In fact, it did… however it was a different bell… a bell which seemed to belong with Sam and I than with Fitzwilliam.

"What 'appened to 'er?" Sam asked. "I 'eard a bang, but she just said she was lookin' around! I didn't anticipate tha-"

"_Oui_, I'm sorry, _monsieur_. I wasn't looking were I was going and seemed to walk right into her. I didn't mean her any harm," Jean ensured him, calmly. His voice… it was too soft, too delicate and sweet to work for Fitzwilliam. I refused to believe it. Jean was not one of them. Jean was not one of them. Jean was not one of them.

"You okay, Cat?"

"Uh…" I groaned in reply. "My… head…"

"What's wrong with 'er?" he stammered as I closed my eyes. I wanted to sleep. I wanted… no, I didn't want to go _home_. There was no where I could call home back _there_. Although the soft mattress and Alice's plumped duck-feather pillows would be rather handy…

"Blow to the head. She'll be fine, _monsieur_, though I suggest she gets some rest."

"We 'ave nowhere to go!" Sam panicked. No. I hate panic. Especially when it's over me.

I heard laughter; ever so slight laughter escape from Jean's lips. "Don't fret. She'll be fine. You can come back to our place. My sister will be more than happy to take a look at her. _Oui_?"

I felt Sam hesitate; he didn't want to take the risk. He didn't want to risk us being taken to a house of Fitzwilliam's spy. Neither did I but I knew we had no choice. I wanted to rest. Besides, we could go on the run anytime; the Caribbean plan still stands, although it was for my mind only.

"Let's go, Sam," I spluttered. "It's fine. Nothing will happen."

He was still tentative.

"_Sam_!" I forced out a distressed snarl.

"Fine, fine," he gave in, reluctantly. "Are ya sure it'll be alright Mr. Magliore?"

"_Oui_, what's the worst that could happen?" Jean gave a short lived laugh. I could think of a few things. Like being taken back to London and forced into marriage for one. But I sealed shut my lips along with my eyes. I would sleep now.

"Cat?" Sam yelped whilst I buried my head against his muscular shoulder. "What's 'appening?"

"She's tired, _monsieur_," our companion told Sam, convincingly. "We should carry her back to the house. Looks like she wants to sleep."

"_I'm tired,"_ I tried to say, but my lips were shut firm. It provided my cue to rest; to relax myself entirely. I hardly felt myself being pulled up into either of their strong arms and not even the sudden gush of wind pulled me back into consciousness.

I was certain if Sam and Jean didn't know any better, I could have looked dead.

x

Dust. That's all I could smell, all I could see, all I could feel… Dust.

Slowly, my eyes fluttered open to observe the new surroundings I faced. A room. Just a small, simple, cosy little room with several couches dotted around, a decomposing bookcase rammed into the corner and a fire flickering angrily in the hearth. I sat up, the pain no longer lingering in my head to keep me down to discover I was one of the torn and dilapidating couch, holey blankets clung tight around my body.

I was no longer dressed in my ball gown but clothed in a draping nightdress far too big for me. I was slightly horrified at the thought of Sam or Jean changing me. A slight shudder ran itself through my veins and spine however it soon wore off.

"S-Sam?" I called, my throat tickling and croaking my voice.

"Oh," a voice responded from the next room almost instantly. It wasn't the voice of Sam, not even the voice of Jean. It was the voice belonging to a _female_ with the similar French dialect I'd heard lingering in his voice at the grocery store.

I didn't reply. I sunk lower into my seat, clinging onto my blankets.

And then, in she came. My fears and anxiousness suddenly deteriorated; this woman seemed safe enough. Her strawberry blond locks cascaded far down to her hips and fell delicately over her green-yellow eyes. She approached me closer, her brow wrinkling slightly as she continued to thrash her wooden spoon into the gluey mixture of her bowl.

But the strange addition to her was her familiarity. She was almost as memorable as Jean had seemed to me, earlier. But I knew for a fact she couldn't have worked for my previous guardian; Fitzwilliam employed only men to do his delivering and all the names of the female maids and governesses I knew off by heart. And now I was certain Jean was as innocent as her; we weren't identifying one another through Fitzwilliam, but through something else… something I was unaware of…

"Hm… Cat, isn't it?" she inquired, cocking her head slightly to the side.

I nodded, slowly.

"I'm Jean's sister, Constance," she introduced with a small smile. "Our brothers are just off to the grocery store; apparently you could use some vitamins in you, _oui_?"

Again, I nodded. "H-how long have I been asleep?"

Constance shrugged, almost apathetically. "Since this mornin'," she replied. "You've been out cold. Although you looked uncomfortable in that… _serré_ frock of yours. I changed you into one of my old nightgowns… That's alright, _oui_?"

I wrinkled my nose. "I _hate_ that dress."

She raised a delicate eyebrow at me. "_Vraiment_, Cat? That dress is good enough for a princess."

"Exactly," I groaned.

Constance twitched slightly; if only I could have known what thoughts were running through her mind… Her green eyes were still flickering back to me, attempting to go unnoticed; she recognised me, I was certain.

I heard her mutter something disapprovingly beneath her breath as she strode back into the next room in which I could only presume there was a kitchen. I continued to sit in complete silence, fiddling with a stray curl in my unruly tresses. I forced myself not to think of the familiarity mystery and concentrated on the grocery store. It was nice to have a beautiful memory lingering in my head at this moment in time.

"She's awake, _ma soeur_?" Jean's voice suddenly rang through the silence.

"_Oui_," Constance replied, her voice drowned out by the thrashing of her wooden spoon against her bowl. "Think that bang to the head did something terrible to her though, Jean. Apparently she _hates_ that beautiful gown she came in… that thing must've cost a fortune!"

I hoped – as I couldn't see – that Jean was rolling his sparkling eyes at her. I remained quiet until the sound of the rotting door being flung open came into earshot.

"She's awake, _mon ami_," Jean muttered to the figure who could only have been Sam standing in the entrance.

"I'd take it slow though, lad," chimed in Constance, her voice almost inaudible. "That knock to the head's done something to her-"

"Constance!" Jean hissed in irritation.

"What? What kind of girl her age doesn't like pretty frocks like that?"

I didn't bother listening in on the rest of their argument. I sat as quiet as I could in my position, waiting patiently for Sam to walk on through the open arch and into my room.

I smiled broadly at the eventual sight of him; he was dressed in draping clothes (which I alleged to be courtesy of Jean) and the smudged dirt plastered across his face was wiped from his skin, cleanly. His tousled ginger hair was somewhat ordered although the thick dark circles beneath his eyes were remaining.

"You okay, Cat?" he asked, taking a seat at the end of my sofa.

I nodded. "I'm fine."

"Good. This means ye'll be fit enough to leave tonight, won't ya?"

My eyes widened, unblinkingly. I jerked myself up straight and frowned. "What?" I demanded. "We have to _leave_? Why? What have Jean and Constance done?"

"Nothing, nothing," Sam shushed me, gently pushing my tense body back into its original position against the worn pillows. "Just… Cat, ya saw the way they looked at you… they work for Fitzwilliam, don't ya see? And don't go defendin' 'em; I can see ye know who they are too!"

"But for different reasons!" I retorted. "Sam, I thought the same as you about Jean but now Constance… if she worked for Fitzwilliam I would know; I know every maid and governess of Lord Dalton's by name, and he _never _hires women to transport his goods or deliver things. And I don't know how I recognise them, I just… do…"

I paused, waiting for my friend's response. Thinking back it sounded so stupid; I cringed a little just before Sam delivered his reply. To my relief, he suppressed a small giggle;

"When did our lives get such a mess, eh?"

I scoffed, faintly. "I know when mine did," I grumbled, glancing down at my twiddling thumbs.

"Oh, Cat, ya know I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know, Sam," I smiled. "It's fine… So, what now?"

He shrugged his broad shoulders, pensively. "As I said, I can't stay here forever; me father needs me back in London in a few days at the most; times are 'ard, Cat, ya understand?"

I nodded.

"So we'll stay 'ere for a few days if it's fine with our hosts… and you, of course… if yer serious Jean and Constance aren't spies… ye need to be serious, Cat; we both know what could happen to ya if yer not-"

"I am," I interjected. "They _can't _be, Sam."

He held up his palms, silencing me. "Alright, I'll take yer word for it, Cat. Ye're usually right about these things. But if they are…"

"I have a back-up plan," I revealed, visions of the sunny Caribbean swimming back into my mind.

"I won't even ask."

"Good."

Sam smirked at me, although behind the glitter of his bright eyes, I could see anxiousness lingering. But it didn't matter what Sam thought; I knew Jean and Constance weren't a threat to my escape plan. I knew them from elsewhere. Now all there was to figure out was _where_ exactly…

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I know, I know, I'm making Constance nice-ish… but who's to say her evilness wasn't just a cat thing? I know for one my own cat isn't so charming... ;) **


	7. An Old Friend

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011, yada yada yadaaaa.**

* * *

**Chapter VI**_**  
**__An Old Friend_

My eyes shot open. I must've been dreaming as my chest and face were yet again dripping with sweat in which some had found its way into my eyes causing them to water away the sting. I kicked the bed clothes off me, suddenly shuddering against the cold, early morning air. I paced to the open window and slammed it shut, almost causing the whole of Jean and Constance's home to shake.

Sam and I had survived almost three days without them alerting Fitzwilliam, so I was beginning to think they were just friendly folks of Cornwall who… recognised me… Perhaps they'd known my mother…

I smiled at the thought of her; the long auburn hair, the beautiful brown eyes which outshone mine by miles… I hardly had the dream anymore, but I still remembered her… I would _never_ forget.

Then I paused.

I'd forgotten about her friends; the woman with the cascading strawberry blonde hair and the cheerful green eyed man… their accents, their looks… everything about them – even their presence around me – screamed Jean and Constance…

It was them.

I felt a slight rush of adrenaline slither up through my veins; they _knew_ her. And what's more, they were _friends_ with her! I could barely hold myself up with the excitement of it all… I had to confront them about it… They could even take me to her!

I began to beam, wildly; soon enough, I could be _finally _reunited with my mother. After all this time, I could still be with her. And how would Fitzwilliam ever be able to get to me when I'm with her?

I took a deep breath as I decided; I would do it. I would tell them. Now.

I went over all the possible ways I could confront Jean and Constance in my mind as I scampered down the narrow staircase and into their lounge. I tripped slightly as I tumbled on in, the words already beginning to pour out of my mouth before Constance, who was curled up on the couch, could even notice my presence.

"Miss Magliore, I-" I tried to begin, but she cut me off with a slightly surprised jump.

"Oh, Cat, you frightened me!" she half-smiled though half-scowled too.

I shifted uncomfortably on my bare feet, frozen to the spot. "Sorry," I apologized, ducking my head down to gaze at my scrunched toes with unease.

She waved her hand through the air, swishing it this way and that like an angry cat's tail. "It's fine," she grumbled. "I suppose you noticed then?"

My body stiffened. "N-noticed what?"

Constance seemed to pause herself. "Oh…" she mumbled, clasping her hands tightly together on her lap. "Excuse me a moment," she said, avoiding any eye contact with me as she stumbled out of the room, through the kitchen and into the early morning, not bothering to close the door behind her.

I didn't move as I awaiting her return. I didn't know what on Earth was going on, but something seemed to assure me I had to fear the worse.

Was Fitzwilliam in town?

No, that's almost impossible; I left no clues to where I was going… besides Alice's note… It couldn't be possible she… she couldn't have _told_ him…

"_She wouldn't,"_ I mentally growled in desperate attempt to reassure myself. _"She wouldn't, she wouldn't, she wouldn't, she wouldn't."_

"Cat!"

I felt Jean's presence yet again, which seemed to settle my nerves. I didn't want to ask what was going on; I wanted to remain naive to the fact my escape plans could be foiled before they had barely just begun.

Jean smiled, sympathetically at me; he clearly noticed my nerves and therefore wrapped his long coated arm around my shivering shoulders, comfortingly.

"Nothing's going on, Cat," he breathed. "It's just…"

He trailed off, immediately causing me to respond almost too quickly with a "what?"

Jean exhaled, gently; he clearly didn't want to torment me with the wait… although, he didn't seem to have the right words to respond with. However, eventually I heard what I had least suspected and what I had possibly never wanted to hear;

"Sam left last night."

I felt my whole body tense, my heart seeming to break inside my chest; what would I do without my best friend? The one who said he would always look after me no matter what happened… How could he do that now? He was on his way back to London – without me.

"He left you a note, _ma chaton_," Jean began again, rustling through his pockets. He handed me a rough piece of parchment, Sam's scrawl scribbled onto it. I tried to think of the time Sam learned how to write as I unfolded the paper. My heart felt wretched yet again as I read the words;

_Dear Cat,_

_Probably wondering where I learned to write, eh? I've told you before; I have my ways. And don't you go worrying about me; I know you will be. Just promise me you'll keep yourself safe and stay with Jean and Constance. I don't want you running off, Cat._

_I've gone back to London for the moment. Da' needs me probably just as much as you do. I'm also going to keep an eye on Lord Dalton for you. I said I'd write back to Jean and Constance if there comes to be any bad news. Though I doubt he'll be coming after you anytime soon._

_I'm sorry I had to leave, Cat. Maybe I might be able to come back and visit you at times. Stay safe, promise?_

_Love,  
Sam_

My face felt sodden as I glanced back up at Jean. I felt salt water drip to my lips, my eyelids shuddering to a close. I whimpered ever so slightly, sitting there in my dark little place, feeling completely alone.

I must've been crying rather noticeably now because before I knew it, I was cradled in Jean's arms in a way a father would embrace his distressed daughter. He muttered words to me, but I couldn't make out what any of them were. I felt broken inside, feeling nothing but emptiness.

"Sshh, it's alright, _ma chaton_," he whispered. That was the only thing I could hear; _ma chaton_.

"Jean?" I stammered, snuffling and wiping my eyes as I buried my head into his chest, blinking my eyes open.

"_Oui?_" he replied, still rocking me from side to side, gently.

"What does _ma chaton_ mean?"

I felt him stiffen, yet not in a hard, cold and lifeless way; in a way, it seemed he was recalling the past, thinking deeply about the situation we were faced with.

"_My kitten_," I heard him say, releasing me from his comforting grip to glance at me in the eye. "You're our kitten, Cat. You have been for so long and you've never known it. Your mother used to call you it all the ti-"

We both hesitated. I bit my lip, more in shock that Jean had known I was my mother's daughter all along than the actual finding out that he had known her. There were suddenly many questions I wanted to ask: who was she? What was she like? Is she still… alive?

"Look, C-Cat-" Jean began, his sparkling eyes widening, but before he could even begin, a sudden knock at the door cut off his words as well as my own thoughts. Silence falling over us, we could hear the ancient, splintering door creak open. Constance must've been in the kitchen; after all, only she could breathe the words, "Jack Sparrow…" so flirtatiously it made my cringe.

"_Captain _Jack Sparrow, love," a strangely accented voice replied, smoothly. The man at the door had to have been British, but was clearly a traveller too; his brogue was combined with many different dialects… quite so much it was confusing to try and analyze.

Constance giggled. "Of course… _Captain_…"

She must've been touching him or something because the next thing Jean and I heard was a stagger backwards and this man – Captain Jack Sparrow's – next words;

"Not that I wouldn't want to, love, really. Just need to talk to yer husband first is all. Rather important…" He paused. "Although-"

A faint slapping sound could be heard; it seemed to be Constance's turn to remove Captain Sparrow's hands from her. I looked to Jean in an inquiring way; he merely shrugged in return.

"Husband?" Constance demanded. Although she was out of view to both Jean and I, we both knew she would be glaring at this man with hands on hips. In fact, the picture was quite so clear, I could hear Jean chuckle slightly.

"Aye, Jean Magliore. Ginger lad, bit funny looking," Captain Sparrow replied. I smiled ever so slightly, suppressing a small giggle.

_SLAP!_

I jumped. Jean jumped. From the kitchen, Jack groaned at Constance.

"Didn't deserve that," he quoted, grimly. Unfortunately for him, Constance seemed to disagree… however I don't think any of us expected any less of her.

"I am _not_ Jean's wife!" she snapped, her French brogue seeming to shine through her sharp words. "I'm his _sister_, Constance!"

"Ah..."

I felt Jean shift from the left side of me, rising slowly to his feet. "This could get messy, _ma chaton_," he explained with a wink directed to me. I nodded, staying fixed in my position as he moved for the kitchen.

"Ah, Jean, mate! How've you been? Long time no see, eh?" Jack seemed to perk up as he caught the sight of Jean in the doorway. I listened intently as Constance scoffed and her brother seemed to nudge her.

"Good… Jack… What are you doing here, _mon ami_?"

"Long story, mate. Important one, too. And I need your undivided and exclusive attention for this to make any sense whatsoever!" Jack shot back with the sound of a smirk. I watched Jean shake his head with an insignificant sigh.

"Come on in," he gestured, trying to suppress his unconcern for the matter he found himself in.

It was then I caught my first glance of Captain Jack Sparrow; his long, dark hair was braided into dreadlocks, with assorted beads and useless trinkets tied in, some hidden beneath his tricorn leather hat. He swaggered in like he was drunk, his arms flailing though it was only a few steps to the lounge. His chocolate eyes were deeply lined with black kohl and his clothes were like those of a… pirate.

I blinked to check my eyes weren't deceiving me; this man was a pirate?

"Uh, Cat, this is our… friend, Captain Sparrow…" Jean announced, uneasily. It was almost as if he was hiding something. Yes, more secrets. Just what I need.

"Captain," I stood up, curtsying, remembering all of the manners I had been taught whilst living with Fitzwilliam.

"Milady," the captain said, with a low – and rather over exaggerated bow – before looking back to Jean with a grin. "I like it, mate. Good manners you've taught her. _Captain_ Jack Sparrow. Simple and easy to remember, eh?" He glanced over his shoulder, smirking back to Constance who appeared to be glaring.

"Jack, she's not my wife," Jean grumbled, uncharacteristically, clearly catching on to Captain Sparrow's next witty quote. "And Cat isn't our daughter."

I witnessed Jack's odd behaviour as he spoke the words in his complex manner; "So that's really Constance, mate? And I thought the Ugly Duckling was just a legend… or in our case… the Ugly Grey-Hissing-Little-Beastie…"

Constance snarled from the kitchen. I didn't think I'd ever catch onto any of this.

"So, what is it, _mon ami_?" I didn't like this side to Jean; the serious side, the side which didn't smile. In fact, his beautiful green eyes had even stopped sparkling. I shuddered, silently.

"Cat, why don't you go upstairs?" Constance ordered from the open doorway between our two rooms. I forced myself not to argue; I wanted to stay and listen to Captain Jack Sparrow… something about him seemed vitally important… vitally familiar. However, I pushed my thoughts aside and rose to my feet.

I said nothing as I descended for the stairway, twiddling Sam's note in my hands… Sam… I sighed, delicately, opening it back up and running my fingers over the dents his quill had made.

But then I spotted it:

Sam's tiny writing was dotted in the left hand corner on the back of his note. Squinting, I could just about read it without straining my eyes too badly;

_Your diary, _was all it read. I stopped in my tracks on the wooden landing. My diary? My heart skipped a beat. Sam had read my diary? All of my plans for the journey to the Caribbean were written in that very book! Without a second thought, I hurled open the decomposing door to my bedroom and dropped to my knees, scatting at the cases and general mess which lay under the bed, until my beautifully crafted book fell into my hands.

My fingers flew through the pages I had written and sketches I had roughly drawn based on my new life in the Caribbean over the past few days until I witnessed Sam's practically indecipherable writing underneath the outline of a squawking parrot I had drawn and crossed through various times.

_Dear Cat,_

_Either you got the clue on my note or you're about to draw more parrots. But whichever one, I can trust you're reading this. I read your plans of escaping to the Caribbean last night. You kept it well hidden, Cat. I would have never expected such big plans from such a little person!_

_I want to meet you in Tortuga, I'm sure you've heard of it. If you're going to the Caribbean, then I want to protect you there. I hate the thought of anything happening to you, Cat. I tried to arrange a boat for you, but the last one sailed off while you were asleep. That's the one I'm on._

_It takes about 3 months to get there; if you get a good ship then it could be less. _

_Jean and Constance don't know anything about this; you might want to leave a note for them before you leave. Thank them for me; they've been good friends when we needed them the most._

_I'll see you in a little over 3 months, Cat. Look after yourself until you get to Tortuga. I'll be waiting for you._

_Love,  
Sam_

I froze, my emotions twisting around again. Sam. Something told me he hadn't totally deserted me. He was my best friend and he promised he would never give up until I was safe. I must be destined for safety in Tortuga.

In that case, it's my only choice.

Again, I began to pack my satchel, my mother's smile returning triumphantly to my lips.

x

Jean fell back against the arm of the dirty couch, taken completely by surprise. "The Fountain of Youth?" he echoed Jack's previous words, bewilderedly.

"Aye!" the captain beamed, brightly. "Harmless fun; just like the old days, eh?"

"_Fun_ always seemed to get us into trouble, _mon ami_," Jean insisted, before Jack seemed to get an idea lodged into his head.

Unfortunately for him, however, it seemed that ship had already sailed. Captain Sparrow smiled at his old friend somewhat sympathetic for the poor man's lack of desire for adventure. This wasn't the Jean Magliore he knew!

"Ah, but who's to say said trouble isn't just as fun as the average kind of harmless fun we begin with before it develops into said kind of troublesome fun!" he riddled, smartly.

Jean stared at him, blankly.

"You know, _Jack_," Constance interrupted, darkly, taking her position on the couch beside her brother with a scowl directed at the captain, "chasing after all of these ridiculous treasures are just foolish pursuits which will get you nowhere! _La Fontaine_ is just a myth and don't we all know it!"

Jack stopped, but eventually grinned at her. "More avocations than pursuits."

"That doesn't make them any less foolish!" she spat back. "Besides, _you_ don't even have a ship!"

"Constance!" Jean silenced her. "Look, Jack, it's not that we don't want to help you… it's just…" His gaze fell to the stairs in which Cat had been sent up. He exhaled slowly.

Jack seemed to catch on to what his old friend had been thinking. "Might as well hold your breath, mate, she's not even your daughter. And, prey tell, but isn't the mother supposedly meant to care for her little bonny lass ol'… whatsherface," he quoted.

"_Oui_, but-"

"So whats say you we make for Florida immediately!" the infamous pirate captain exclaimed, excitement lingering in his voice.

Jean bit down hard on his bottom lip; almost so hard, in fact, he was extremely close to drawing blood. He couldn't deny his love for adventure – especially the crazy ones Jack never seemed to be short of. But…

"I… I can't, _mon ami_… you see… she's… she's…" Should he tell? Should he spill the beans to Jack that the young teenager he had just met was as a matter of fact his daughter? And not only was she his, she was Arabella's. A woman they both loved deeply as a friend, the woman that they hadn't seen for so many years and would give anything to see again.

"She's Arabella's!"

It was Constance. Jean gaped at his sister, raising an eyebrow sceptically. What was she playing at?

Jack twitched. "Belle had a daughter?"

"_Oui_…" Constance continued, "Right, Jean?" She shot her brother a sharp look which Jean raised his red tinted eyebrows at. He was confused, no doubt about it. But then he caught on; for one reason or another Constance didn't want the pirate before them to know he was a father.

She just wanted him to know Arabella – wherever she may be – was a mother.

So, he nodded, slowly. "_Oui_, she's Belle's."

"Hm," Jack responded, twiddling with the braid in his beard. Who could tell what emotions were swimming behind his chocolate brown eyes? He and Arabella had been close – at times _very_ close. Would he care his childhood sweetheart had a child? And would he ever find out said child was really his?

"So, how is good ol' Belle, then?" he continued, swinging his legs onto a close-by coffee table. "Haven't seen her since Poseidon's Peak. I'm assuming she didn't marry Billy, eh?"

Constance folded her arms tighter to her chest. "Why would you assume that?"

So she was trying to make out Catalina was Bill Turner's daughter, Jean realized. However, all he was really wondering was _why_?

"I've had a few misadventures with his son, love," Jack shrugged as he span one of his large rings around the tips of his fingers. "He's a good lad; eunuch, of course, but he's clearly not Belle's."

The three of them shared a brief silence; their expressions were all blank, it was practically impossible for them to tell what the other was thinking.

Eventually, Captain Sparrow clapped and rubbed his two hands together, his big gold-toothed grin returning. "So, the Fountain of Youth? What d'you say, mate?"

"I said, no, _mon ami_," replied Jean, firmly. "I… promised Arabella I would be here for Cat… and I have a lot to make up for." And he smiled, ever so slightly, knowing that his statement wasn't exactly an act to shield Jack from the truth.

Jack shrugged his shoulders, dipping down his head. "Your funeral, mate. What about you, love?" he turned his attention to Constance.

This took her by surprise. "M-me?"

Their guest nodded, his alluring chocolate eyes sparkling. "Why not, eh? I heard from a man who knows another man who swears on his life it's the truth that you Magliores can _tell_ me _exactly_ where the Fountain is."

Constance scoffed. "He better watch his back then."

Jean gave his sister a slight eye roll. Of course, he was _tempted_ to leave with his old captain; in fact, if it wasn't for his gut instinct telling him he had to stay for Cat, then he would have undoubtedly set off that very moment.

"It's been nice catching up, Jack. But I've got to stay. For Catalina."

Jack arched his dark brows curiously. "What about Arabella?"

Jean raised one shoulder, lowering the other in a sorrowful shrug. "I'm sorry, Jack," he apologized, sincerely. Luckily, both his sister and first captain could tell he meant it. Jean saw Constance shake her head from side to side from the corner of his emerald eye and felt a pang of relief.

She was resisting the adventure too.

With that, Captain Jack Sparrow rose to his feet and bowed exaggeratedly to both his old crewmates. "Nice catching up, eh?" he said in farewell as he made his way through the kitchen and out into the moderately quiet streets of Penzance.

Although there was something about that mischievous smirk on his lips that clearly said; "we'll meet again."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Oh Jack, always the charmer :') I wrote him as best as I could, I hope it's alright and not **_**too**_** out of character, ahaha. Thanks for the read and tings. Reviews are always welcome!**


	8. Stowaway

**Author's Note:**** Short chapter. Sigh. Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter VII**_**  
**__Stowaway  
_

_Dear Jean and Constance,_

_I overheard you yesterday, speaking about that man, Captain Sparrow after he had left. I didn't hear much, but I know he is in possession of a ship. I know you both knew my mother, and most likely know what has happened to me so far in my life._

_If you don't, I apologize, as this letter will make no sense. _

_I fear Fitzwilliam is after me. I had planned, secretly (not even Sam knew) to travel to the Caribbean as I know my guardian won't find me there. I'm hoping to stowaway with Captain Sparrow. I'm sure he won't mind._

_I want to thank you for everything you have done for Sam and I. You are both great friends and I hope I'll be alright without you._

_And if you have heard from my mother, please, please tell her I am well. Tell her I love her, though we have never met and tell her that one day, I promise I will return to her. _

_All my love,  
Catalina_

As she read the words scrawled neatly across the torn page, Constance dropped her bed sheets and towels in shock. She scanned her green eyes across the words again, to make sure she wasn't imagining things.

Surely it couldn't be true, could it?

But it still said the same. Cat was gone. And what was worse, she was hiding on the commandeered ship of the man who was most defiantly her long lost father. And not only that, neither of them knew who the other was.

"Damn it," Constance hissed underneath her breath before scrunching the short letter into her palm and racing out of Cat's empty bedroom, screaming the name of her brother.

x

It was dark when I had escaped. And it was rather easy, surprisingly. I had crept through the empty, dark streets of Penzance and even found my way to the docks. I had spotted Captain Jack Sparrow eying up a large ship, one too large to be crewed by one man alone. I had hid in the shadows as he sauntered past me, reaching down for a few barrels and crates.

That was my cue to go. I had sprinted across the decomposing wood, careful not to make a sound and carefully not to trip over Constance's old gown which I still wore. I had snuck slowly aboard the ship I had seen Captain Sparrow smiling up at and ducked low behind a large crate which was bordered by a line of barrels.

Captain Sparrow returned a short while later. He had performed a procedure on the ship, tying up loose ropes and tugging on different ones. Before I knew it, I could feel the waves ripple beneath us. We were on our way.

Jack had headed up to the large steering wheel at the helm and I heard him turn it this way and that. He hadn't moved after hours of my waiting, but as soon as I had heard faint snores, I had stood upright and clambered into the largest of the crates. It was easily twice my size, so I had no trouble curling my knees up to my chest and resting my head on them.

And then I had waited. And waited. And waited until darkness came over me and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

x

I awoke with a crash. I tried to leap to my feet but I ached all over. I could only lift up my tired head to see I had fallen from my barrel and it was now on top of me. I could smell salt and, again, could feel the ship jerk against the waves.

"Ow," I grumbled, reaching for newly formed bump I felt on my forehead. But what was worse, I could hear footsteps. I suddenly felt sweaty with anxiety and fear and my heart began to plummet against my chest.

What was wrong with me? What was I doing here?

"Ah, Catalina, love! I had a feeling you'd turn up soon," Captain Sparrow stood over me within a second. He made no eye contact, and continued glancing down at the compass spinning in his hand.

I hastily climbed to my feet, confusion clearly imprinted on my face. He looked up, shooting me a quick smile, revealing a few golden molars. Then, he was gazing down again.

"H-how?" I asked, blankly.

"Because if you're anything like your mother, love, then you'd be craving the adventure," he answered, turning on his heels and sauntering across the deck. I couldn't help but run after him, gathering my skirts in one hand.

"So, how is Belle then?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. He didn't know what had happened to her?

"I-I wouldn't know," I stammered, hoarsely. "I… I haven't seen her since I was a baby… and I don't even know why." Technically, that was a lie. I know I had been stolen away from her by an obsessive Lord who I feared with every bone in my body, but I had decided after escaping the Magliores' I wouldn't breathe another word about Fitzwilliam to anyone.

Jack stopped, looking me directly in the eye. "Well, that's interesting," he said emotionlessly; too emotionlessly in fact to be sarcastic. He then smirked. "She'd kill me if she knew ye were here, love."

"I wish I knew her," I replied, without even knowing I was speaking. I had a strange confident feeling, and it was strange; unfamiliar and different, but yet I liked it.

The captain smiled at me. "I wish I still knew her, lass. I 'aven't seen her since…" He stopped dead, obviously dwelling on the past. His golden tanned pace seemed to go a whiter shade as he glanced back to me, changing the subject of our conversation with one raised eyebrow;

"So, whats say you we make for Tortuga, immediately?"

I gaped at him. "T-Tortuga?" He was letting me with him? This man, who I could only assume to be a… dare I say it, a pirate? And not only that, we were headed for Tortuga; the very place Sam had directed me to meet him. I felt a small bubble of excitement inside me, and a slight smile creep its way over my lips.

Jack grinned, gazing out onto the horizon where the sun was quickly rising above the low clouds. "Aye, lass, Tortuga."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Tortuga? Aye, Tortuga... oh the fun we can have there. ;)**


	9. The Bargain

**Author's Note: ****Introducing Arabella Smith into the equation! And... perhaps a little future crush for our Cat? **

**Revised on January 9, 2011!**

* * *

**Chapter VIII**_**  
**__The Bargain_

She stared out to the horizon, her shining brown eyes darting with every movement around her. The shadows seemed to work as an advantage as she slipped along the sides of houses and walls, determined to be unseen. Fifteen years of hiding had ensured this talent.

Fifteen years. It pained her to think of how long she had lived without her child. By now, if she wasn't dead, Catherine would be a young woman. By now, knowing her captor, the poor girl would be well on her way to marrying a monster of a man. Maybe even by now her little kitten would already be 'Lady Fitzwilliam Dalton' and would have little unwanted kiddies hanging from her overly expensive skirts.

Arabella Smith shuddered at the thought. Her eyes stung with the tears she constantly cried. It wasn't like she could forget. Who could forget such a thing?

But she had decided. It wouldn't be this way any longer. She was going to London. She was going to take a loaded pistol and shoot Lord Dalton straight through his black, rotten heart. She was going to wrap her daughter tight in her arms and never let her go again.

"Arabella?" a voice hissed surreptitiously from the alley way this woman neared on. She stopped dead in her tracks. It was a moment or two before she identified the figure closing in behind her.

"Jared," she breathed in relief, daring not to look over her shoulder and face the gentle blue eyes of her teenage companion. She felt his tall presence lingering closely behind her as she continued to swerve through the shadows, edging closer and closer to the docks.

"Is she here?" Jared asked. He was a handsome young boy of sixteen, thick black hair that was chopped messily, sticking up on all ends and crystal blue eyes that were gentle to his complexion instead of piercing the views around him. A thin, short scar sliced through his right eyebrow, missing his actual eye by sheer millimetres.

Arabella shook her head of tousled auburn hair whilst peering through a golden spyglass, out to the open sea. "She's approaching," she replied, eventually. "A black ship with black sails – that's the _Pearl_, I'm sure."

Jared nodded, quickly. He understood the plan fully: Arabella would barter them a passage to London on the fastest ship in the Caribbean. There she was to save her daughter he had heard much about. It was then the plan was out of motion.

Neither of the duo knew what was to be done after that.

However, both had forbidden themselves to think of that. Their mission was to save Cat. That was their intention for now.

"Are you sure Captain Barbossa will agree to this?" he inquired, taking the spyglass from his companion slowly. The _Pearl_ was getting closer. It wouldn't be long before she made port. A gulp wedged itself tight in his throat.

Arabella shrugged, truthfully. "In honesty, Jared, I don't know. If Jack hadn't been stupid enough to get 'imself mutinied in the first place, it would be a whole lot easier. Barbossa's a tough one to bargain with."

Again, her friend nodded. Arabella was wise – a very bright woman, in fact – so there was no doubting her plan, really. It would work perfectly. There were just the lingering nerves of situating it into motion that bothered him.

When hardly enough time had passed by, Jared watched Arabella move forwards, swiftly. The notorious _Black Pearl_ had made port at Tortuga, floating at the docks so gracefully it was almost scary.

Almost.

He had easily figured the scariest thing about the _Pearl_ was her mutinous captain. All the same, he swallowed his fears and scampered after Arabella, who strode straight for the ship, confidently. He groaned slightly, wondering how on earth it was she remained so calm. Years of practice, that would be it.

"Gentlemen," she called out, approaching the giant ship, assertively, hands placed upon her hips, hair blown in the wind beneath her leather tricorn hat. The two pirates docking the _Pearl_ jumped up instantly. Catching the sight of Arabella before them, they smiled, darkly. A breath caught itself in Jared's throat.

"'Ello Poppet," grinned the shorter, chubbier of the two, a bald patch sitting on top of his head in between thin, greasy hair hanging scattily past his shoulders. "Lost are we?"

His taller, scrawnier companion cackled, causing Jared to squint. Could that be a wooden eye rolling about in his empty socket? The thought of losing an eye instigated him to shudder, goose bumps settling themselves on his bare arms.

"We're perfectly fine, men," Arabella answered, coldly. "In fact, I would like to invoke the right of parley with Captain Barbossa. I have something ye'll find ye need."

Jared arched his eyebrow. He wondered whether she really _did_ hold something for Captain Barbossa or whether this was all part of her scheme. Either way, he hoped this was not going to get them into the big mess he could feel coming. He shook himself off as Arabella began to move forwards again, following the slimy pair up the gangplank.

He followed her, hoping Captain Barbossa would not be as bloodthirsty or menacing as the stories made him out to be. If things took a turn for the worse, he would have to protect Arabella – even after a while of travelling with her, the young man still had no idea how well this woman could fight, although she carried a whole belt of weaponry.

"What do ye have fer us, Poppet?" smirked the smaller man, walking close to Arabella's side as if she were a prisoner. His friend did the same, leaving Jared an invisible path to follow them by.

She scoffed. "That's none of yer business. Yet. I believe Captain Barbossa would like to hear this first, if ye don't mind."

"Nothin'... bad, I 'ope," the second suddenly stammered. It was Arabella's turn to smile, now. She tapped her nose secretively, directing a swift wink over her shoulder in Jared's direction. Still following close behind, the boy smiled, mimicking her actions perfectly.

Once aboard the _Black Pearl_, he couldn't help but reveal a hidden smile – she was truly beautiful. All the stories he'd heard of this ghost ship – this haunting vessel that had been to the end of the world and back, crewed by the damned and sunken by an undersea beast and yet survived to return – he hadn't imagined her to be such a beautiful ship.

No wonder Captain Sparrow kept getting mutinied against, he mused.

"Ah, Miss Smith, it's been far too long," a newer voice said, cutting into Jared's ponderings. Heavy, slow footsteps were heard as the mumbling crew piped down, now merely muttering quietly between themselves.

Greying hair hidden beneath a large ostrich feathered hat and a scraggly beard were seen on a scared, sea-worn face as Captain Hector Barbossa approached Arabella, towering tall above her. Once again, the teenage sailor shivered – though Jared was usually a brave young lad, the recent ordeals with pirates Arabella had ensured... well, who _wouldn't_ be secretly afraid of bloodthirsty men who thrived for danger?

And the presence of Captain Barbossa... oh, that just topped it all off. Avoiding eye contact with the mutinous pirate, he watched Arabella, closely. The piratess lifted her chin to look her opponent in the eye, her expression stern.

"Not quite long enough if ye ask me, Hector," she replied.

"She says she 'as a proposal fer us, Cap'n," Pintel, the stubbiest of the two pirates announced from Jared's side. His closeness initiated a twitch to jump underneath the adolescent's skin as the pirate's dirty stench wafted beneath his nose.

"Have ye now," Barbossa more-so stated than asked, directing his gaze deep into Arabella's eyes, curiously. She nodded, firmly, following her actions with the quote:

"It is to my understanding ye and yer men are on the search for the Fountain of Youth." Scanning the inquisitive faces of the pirates around her, she gave no-one a chance to respond before continuing with her bargain;

"I hold vital information on the Fountain's whereabouts," the corners of her mouth tweaked up into a sly smile, her brown eyes glittering. "But I want something in return."

Barbossa grinned, hardly thinking about what said something may be before he agreed to her deal with a simple, "name yer terms, Miss Smith."

"I want a passage to London for both my friend and I and permission to bring my daughter aboard _without _any of ye miscreants laying a hand on her," she stated, firmly, snarling the last quote, venomously, "and after that, I want ye to take us somewhere safe and never return, ye understand?"

No-one said anything against her. She smiled, triumphantly.

"Very well," Captain Barbossa agreed, moving slowly around Arabella and, to the boy's great discomfort, heading straight for Jared. Pintel and his companion, Ragetti, grappled onto his arms. Jared merely scoffed. As if he would dare running away.

"And what be yer name, lad?" Barbossa almost snarled, eying the lad, sternly.

Anxiously, he looked straight for Arabella, who bowed her head once, somewhat offering him permission to speak. He puffed out his chest slightly, attempting to look unafraid and fearless. He hoped to dear God it would work as he managed to breathe the words;

"Jared Barclay, and don't you forget it!"

The captain smirked at this effort, as did a few members of his crew. "Aye, that we won't, and we'll engrave it on yer tombstone to be sure." Cackles made their way around the _Pearl_, amusing all.

All but Arabella.

"Listen here, Hector," she growled, dangerously – the angriest Jared had ever seen her – at the notorious pirate captain, showing no sign of fear whatsoever. Nothing – _no-one_ – would insult Jared. Not as long as she was around;

"If ye want to find this bloody Fountain, I suggest ye leave the lad alone. I can come as easily as I can go; there are _plenty_ of ships heading for London and yers is nothing special. Lay but one finger on either of us and we'll be gone, ye understand?"

Yet again, Hector just smiled. "Welcome to the _Black Pearl_, Miss Smith."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I don't own a few of those Barbossa quotes, just so you know. The 'engrave it on yer tombstones' bit was from Kingdom Hearts II if I'm correct (I found all these on IMDb which was quite helpful actually!) and others were from the movies, modified. **

**I can't write him to save my life so I needed a little help, phahaha! **


	10. Tortuga

**Author's Note:**** My favourite chapter so far! ;D Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter IX**_**  
**__Tortuga_

By now, I was sure three months had past. I would like to say they were the worst three months of my life but after the terrible moments spent under Lord Dalton's clutches, I suppose these past weeks don't come close.

Sailing was certainly not my calling; sea sickness came over me every time I stepped from my small cabin, my stomach rising into my chest and churning itself around and around until I just couldn't take it and threw up my guts right there on deck. Captain Sparrow wasn't keen to clean up my mess. He stared meekly at me once, twitching his facial features in disgust before sauntering casually up to the helm.

It was only occasionally when we spoke. He stayed up most of the night, staring out into the night sky, compass flickering in his hand. There was one time I went to join him, blanket draped loosely around my shoulders. Yet we still barely exchanged a word.

Generally, if he were to start a conversation, it would be about my mother, Arabella. I'd learnt much about her from the short stories he told. I had wanted to ask, wanted to plead with him to tell me more, but I couldn't find the words. I pictured myself speaking them and could almost feel the quirky response the Captain would reply with.

But I couldn't convey. I wondered why every time I was alone. Why couldn't I speak freely? Was it all those years spent trembling in fear of my intended husband? I couldn't put my finger on it. I had realized, looking back, I had always been the same. Apart from with Sam. I spoke with him so easily, like the natural force it was.

Why was I like this? What was wrong with me?

Nearing the end of my third month as a sailor, I woke up to brightness; white beams of sunlight shone easily through my circular window, my pale skin glowing. I sat up wearily in my bed, itchy covers dropping down my night gown. I blinked several times, rubbing the sleep from my eyes only to replace the blurred shapes I had seen with the grinning figure of Captain Jack Sparrow swaying through my open door.

"Ah! Good morning, m'lady," he said, accompanying his greeting with a flamboyant bow. Despite my supposed social-disorder, I smiled, broadly.

"Good morning," I replied, quietly, stretching out my arms high above my head. My dark hair lay messily past my shoulders, a look I was beginning to prefer over my old - and failed - 'not-a-hair-out-of-place' style. My hair had always been untameable. It seemed to be much happy like this.

"We're in Tortuga, love," announced Captain Sparrow, his shimmering gold-toothed grin stretching out his cheeks. My eyes widened, though I was sure the rest of my face stayed emotionless. Captain Sparrow waved his arms around offhandedly, gesturing to my few belongings sprawled over the floor. I was sure he was most likely indicating for me to get dressed – and fast.

"Rise and shine, eh?" he finished. I nodded, waiting for him to evacuate my premises as I rose to my feet, tugging on the only pair of shoes I had brought. Quickly, I slipped off my nightgown, letting it drop around my ankles before I tugged on the old comfortable rags given to me, courtesy of Constance.

It was a while before it really seemed to sink in: I was going to be with Sam again. My best friend. Truth be told, Reader, I care so much for him it's almost unbelievable. Ever since our departure from London, Sam had become something more than a friend... a _brother_. Facing the truth, looking deep down inside, he was the closest thing to family I had.

Probably the closest I _ever_ would.

I shielded my eyes from the blinding sunlight as I stepped out into the open daylight. Immediately, I wrinkled my nose at the disgusting stench wafting casually around in the warm air. Out of instinct, I coughed and spluttered on my own breath as I strolled down the gangway in order to meet my Captain standing impatiently at the docks.

I couldn't stop a traumatized gasp from wedging itself in my throat the moment I looked out on the town; it was definitely not what I had expected. I assumed it would be like Penzance only a little busier. But no, this was the complete opposite of Jean and Constance's fairy-tale town.

The cobbled streets were dirty – muck and scum gathered up against the walls of houses – and the paths themselves blocked with the drunk and filthy men, their arms draped around the shoulders of disgusting women with dresses tightening and revealing their bodies. There were screams and bellows, fights and shouts. There were even couples consisting of a man thrusting a particularly rowdy woman up against the buildings and quite literally sucking on her face, squeezing his body up against her own.

I shuddered out of disgust. Why had Sam insisted I meet him _here_? Surely he couldn't have known. Surely.

Eyeing my stunned expression, Captain Sparrow smirked. "Welcome to the Caribbean, love," he simply stated before heading straight into chaos. I hurried after him, not daring to look over my shoulder or meet the eyes of any passerby.

Every street we past was neither worse nor better than the last. I walked close to my Captain, resisting the urge to grab the sleeve of his long coat in fear every time I caught the eyes of drunkard resting on me. My heart thumped faster and faster, harder and harder whenever I thought of what these people were capable of – I couldn't risk being caught out alone.

"Anarchic it may be, love, it's true, it is indeed a sad life to breathe not upon the sweet manic that is Tortuga, savvy?" assured Captain Sparrow. I had edged so close to him, it would almost be impossible for him not to feel my shudder. "Besides, it's really quite pleasant. Except for the smell."

I wished I could agree with him.

"Wh-where are we going?" I stuttered, lengthening my pace to keep up with him. We seemed to be progressing away from the rowdy crowds which caused relief to flow through my system. However, it appeared the shabbiest tavern I had ever managed to lay my eyes on was packed to the very brim. I was almost certain if another person was squeezed through the door, the salty wooden walls would collapse.

Ironic it was that this was the place Captain Sparrow seemed to be leading me.

I held my breath, waiting for the over-whelming rush of crowded bodies to swarm me again. I think it was fair to say I was becoming a little claustrophobic. Although, then again, I don't see why anyone wouldn't develop a fear of enclosed spaces after visiting Tortuga.

"Y'know, lass, the good ol' _Faithful Bride_ hasn't changed much since yer mother used to work there," Captain Sparrow quoted, waiting – watching – intently for my expression to change with the new information I had learned.

"My... mother used to work... _here_?"

He nodded in quick response, a casual flicker of his hand to escort his actions. "It's a long story, love. Perhaps I'll tell you sometime."

I nodded back, speaking not a word though I longed to plead him to carry on with the tale. For a split second, I hoped my mother still _did_ work here until I came to my senses and realized I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. I wouldn't want her to become one of _those_ women or live in the danger that truly was Tortuga.

Not at all.

It wasn't until the strong scent of warmth, alcohol and sweat faded and I felt a cool breeze wafting with a new – and more endurable – aroma over my face. I sniffed in deeply: manure, straw and earth mixed together had, strangely, never smelt so sweet.

I eyed my surroundings; the stall – no more than a pig sty – which Captain Sparrow had led me to was dark and cool. Squinting, I could make out several fat, pink pigs huddled up together in the corner with what could only appear to be a man lying in between them. I blinked twice in attempt to awaken my mind yet nothing changed; an elderly sailor, by the looks of him, was soundly asleep, his head resting comfortably on the flabbiest of the swine.

I looked straight for Captain Sparrow. He shot me a mischievous grin, a small flask of water in his hand. Casually, he stepped forward, pouring every drop onto the sleeping man's face, watching as he spluttered and coughed himself awake. His eyes were barely open yet he was quick for a comeback;

"Mother's love, Jack, ye know its bad luck to wake a man when he's sleepin'!"

"Ah, but once again, I know how to contradict it," responded Captain Sparrow, extending an arm for this stranger to grab. He did so firmly, pulled back up quickly to his giddy stance which wobbled to-and-fro, the effect of, most likely, drink.

"Another proposition ye have, Jack?" he asked, his voice tired – bored. It was if he had been here, in this very situation, many times before.

Captain Sparrow nodded, cheerfully, patting his friend on the back. "Aye! What would life be without 'em?" he added, brightly. "Come on, love," he beckoned for me to follow him as he walked onwards, drunkard supported by the arm wrapped over his shoulders, casually.

I didn't hesitate.

I tried not to focus on the fact I was still in Tortuga, a dangerous place for _anyone_ let alone myself who hasn't stepped outside her whole life or we were heading straight for the dilapidated _Faithful Bride_ tavern which could have been just as – or perhaps, more - hazardous than its outside surroundings.

I glanced around for Sam – his ginger hair would be easy to spot especially as it was ruffled on top of a head towering higher than six foot above the ground. Most of these Tortugan men were rather short, and the women only exceeding my height by a few inches or so. I was actually quite surprised I _hadn't _spotted Sam yet.

Until, of course, I _did_ spot him.

Then I had something _more _to be surprised about.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Oh, the suspense. ;)**

**Quick notice: Jack's **_**"it's really quite pleasant. Except for the smell," **_**quote was taken from the song **_**Mama**_** by My Chemical Romance. I love that song and I've always thought that line was kinda 'Jack-ish', hence why I just **_**had**_** to put it in. A combination of my favourite band and favourite move; what could be better?**


	11. The Crew

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011!**

* * *

**Chapter X**_**  
**__The Crew_

The moment Sam came into my line of view, I doubted it was really him: his ginger hair had darkened – darkened far too much for my liking. I squinted, blinking my eyes open and then shut again, testing them, _begging_ them, to show me his carrot coloured locks springing up in every direction.

No, he wasn't changing.

His skin had been singed darker, a sun-sprayed tan covering his face, neck and arms, highlighting his friendly blue eyes to an extreme. I provided a quick, self-conscious glance to my own arms – as pale as always, the sores of sun burn just beginning to heal up. And his eyes! Oh! I'd never really bestowed much attention to his eyes – they were so bright now, so wide, so alert.

But Sam's new gained appearance was nothing. Nothing compared to what I saw, I can tell you that.

A woman, hair so red it couldn't be natural, grappled her long fingers around his torn, dirty shirt and forced him against the alley way, aggressively, conveying a gasp to dislodge itself from my lungs, and tangle itself tight in my throat. I covered my mouth to keep my yelp in – she was one of _those _women.

Men gave the women... _business_ with them. The girls would sell their bodies for... sex, and the men would pay. Sam? Pay? Surely not. He was but a year my senior! How could he be willing to... Where would he have found the money to pay her?

Or was I completely misunderstanding? Were my eyes betraying me?

"I-I... can you... get off? Now? Please?" I heard my friend stammer. I suddenly felt a smile leap to my lips – she was just forcing herself upon him. Forcing herself? I shuddered at this mess I now found myself wedged into the middle of – sailing with a man most likely out of his mind, completely alone as my best and only friend was pursued by a prostitute... what could _I _do about it?

I thought about turning on my heals and continuing to follow Captain Sparrow and this elderly sailor, whom I had heard him call 'Mr. Gibbs' but I was frozen, glued to the spot. I wanted to call for Sam, but couldn't find the courage – what if this woman came for me? I had seen the perilous nature of Tortuga's inhabitants – who knew what she was capable of?

"Cat?" Sam, it was Sam! He'd spotted me. My lips twitched slightly as I saw him pull away, much to this woman's dismay, and stride quickly away as she huffed and grumbled to herself, fastening up the buttons of her tight gown which she had evidently undone at some point. Again, I cringed.

"Oh, God, Cat! Yer safe!" his voice trembled as he threw his arms tightly around me, embracing me close against his muscled torso. I cradled my arms around his waist, feeling, for the first time in three months, safe.

"I'm so sorry, Cat, I wish I'd known, I do! This place is dangerous – perilous – and I just led ya straight to it! I shoulda never... I... Cat, thank God you're alive," he rambled on and on, pulling me closer and closer. His words stung my eyes with salty, translucent tears. He was here. My best friend. Sam. He was here.

"I-I'm fine," I whispered against his grip, struggling to breathe, yet not saying a word of it. As his grasp eventually loosened I lowered my voice to a hoarse whisper; "who was she, Sam?"

I watched him shudder, glancing anxiously over his shoulder at the woman. "She said her name was Scarlett," he started, which I instantly found rather coincidental seeing as that was the very colour of her blinding red hair and dress. "She's... a prostitute, Cat. All of 'em here are. Damn, I wish I'd never brought ya here. It was stupid of me, I shoulda known about this bloody place. We need ta get outta here, Cat. My ship sailed off a few days back! It's been a nightmare stayin' here! Please tell me ya gotta way of escaping?"

I was reluctant to nod. Would Captain Sparrow mind? I really, really hoped not. I was close to finding out about my mother – too close to give in. I had already made up my mind. All there was to do now, was to hope I still had a place to stay aboard Jack's vessel.

"Y-yes," I responded. "I sailed here with Captain Jack Sparrow."

I'll admit, Reader, I was rather surprised when my friend's face dropped into a shocked expression. I countered Sam's shock with a confused glance, raising my eyebrow ever so slightly.

"Cat, you know _that man_ is an _infamous pirate_ captain, responsible for the death of Lord Cutler Beckett and practically _every_ man sailing the Seven Seas is pursuing him?" the words gushed from Sam's lips into a slur of a sentence I almost couldn't make sense of. However, this information didn't really bother me the slightest.

Infamous _pirate_ captain? Responsible for Lord Cutler Beckett's _death_? I snorted, hardly bothering to resist it.

It was hard to believe my mother would know a man such as that one. And possibly even harder to believe Captain Sparrow was a danger to my safety.

"He knew my mother, Sam," I whispered, quieter than intended. "I don't think I could care less if he was Fitzwilliam himself." Alright, maybe that was a slight twist of the truth. Although it seemed to get the effect I wanted – Sam stared at me, eyes as wide as can be, face so sympathetic I hardly believed it was my best friend looking over at me.

"Alright," he replied. "Alright, Cat, where do we find 'im?"

"A_hem_!" a sudden exhale interrupted me just before I could speak. I froze, dead on the spot as I eyed Scarlett standing behind Sam with a snarl as vicious as an angry cat. She said nothing, merely pulling back her arm, swiping at his face and storming off.

I winced at the sharp sound of her slap, watching my friend clutch his burning red cheek in agony.

"Let's hurry on," he suggested, edging closer to me as I guided him straight to the _Faithful Bride_ tavern.

I offered him a weak, encouraging smile whilst I pulled back the loose wooden door. Unsure of what I could say to him, I simply let the words flow from my lips; "you didn't deserve that."

x

The roars of the drunk accompanied by the screams and excited cries of the _Faithful Bride_ inhibiters rung through Captain Jack Sparrow's ears as he slid a full tankard at his old friend, Joshaemee Gibbs with a wide, cheek-stretching grin. Oh, how he loved Tortuga.

Gibbs eyed his younger companion closely, his eyes – the shade of stonewashed denim – watching him closely, examining his every move. He knew Jack's unpredictability far too well: something was going to happen which would cause him to splutter out his rum and choke on the burning substance. What, he could only wonder, was this wily captain up to now?

"I'm in need of a crew, Master Gibbs," came Jack's first proposition, quickly. "I'm going after the Fountain of Youth... _against_ Barbossa and the _Pearl._"

Under his dark eyebrows, Joshaemee's eyes widened to the size of coins in his sockets. "Jack..." he started, wracking his brains for a response to this revelation. "As long as ye have the charts Barbossa will be chasin' ye like a cat does a mouse. Workin' against him doesn't seem like the smartest move. With his help and the _Pearl_, the Youth will be easier to find."

"Ah, but I have a much more better way," Jack countered with a one-sided smile, golden molars glinting in the dim, musty air. As he eyed Catalina shudder at the open doorway, edging close behind a tall young boy who suddenly accompanied her, the captain pointed to the fretting, nervous child and grinned;

"That very girl just so happens to be the daughter of a certain Arabella Smith... savvy?"

Knowing precisely what Captain Sparrow was hinting at, Mr. Gibbs stared in silence. This plan had failure written all over it.

The elderly sailor sighed, watching his alcoholic liquid swill in his tankard. "'Tis a fool's errand, Jack. Things have happened to Miss Smith over the past fifteen years that ensured her sanity is not what it used to be. If she finds out ye used her to find the Fountain–"

"Which is exactly why she won't find out," input Jack, hastily.

Mr. Gibbs continued to shake his head, focussing his gaze on the indents marked into their circular table. "And it's bad luck to have women aboard – especially miniature ones," he superstitiously added.

The captain laughed, flailing out his arms offhandedly. Superstition was the one thing that could not bother him. Jack Sparrow made his own fate, no luck intended. "Mate, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy? Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"

Deciding not to answer this, Master Gibbs brought his drink back to his lips and endured a long, hard sip.

"One last adventure, mate," Jack's best attempt to convince his old friend went completely out the window. "It's immortality we're dealing with. The price of it! Eternity is a long stretch before us, Master Gibbs. I for one will not be spending it..." he paused, taking in a slight gulp of air, "dead."

Watching this man's expression change, Captain Sparrow let a triumphant smile run over his lips. He had won.

"Dead forever seems an awful way to spend it," the sailor considered, stroking his chin in deliberation, Jack's close eyes scanning his every move. An eventual nod came, Mr. Gibbs's own smile beginning to shine over his thin lips. "I'll find us a crew, Jack. One can only hope there are still some sailors out there as mad as a hatter."

Jack's smirk extended. "To immortality," he toasted, holding out his rum towards Gibbs's own. However, knocking their tankards together, these two pirates indisputably had no idea what this journey would become...

"Um..."

For once, even Sam was lost for words.

I would have glanced around at the expressions of my companions – Jack, Gibbs and Sam – but my eyes were fixed straight and still on this apparent 'crew' of ours. I suppose I wasn't one to judge; a fifteen year old, ex-aristocratic young girl with anxiety problems, but, quite frankly, it appeared Tortuga had been swiped clean of all worthy sailors.

Captain Sparrow had been unhesitant to accept Sam into our crew, which saved me having to negotiate terms. I wasn't quite in the right place to launch into a long conversation with him quite yet – there was something about Jack that made me resist.

"It's not... much of a... crew," Sam said, slowly, peeking a glance at Mr. Gibbs, blatantly careful not to offend the old sailor.

Jack just smirked, completely confident and entirely sure this was his destined crew – a line up of boys clearly only a few years subsequent to Sam's age, some scrawny and some literally exhausted, and a few elderly men, clearly sea-worn, yet far too old to _stand_, let alone _live _on a ship.

"Nonsense, lad," the captain chirped, slapping Sam contentedly on the back, striding along his line-up. Mr. Gibbs was but a mere few steps behind, therefore I decided to follow too, knowing far too well my best friend would be quick on my heals.

"Though predominantly... dead-looking..." Jack paused at a crooked, withered old man with deep black circles swelling beneath his eyes and a stooped, hunched back, "you should know to _never_ judge a book by its cover, aye, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye!" reported Gibbs, quickly. "All of 'em loyal and trustworthy, first-class hands behind the mast. Worth every shilling I 'ave, Cap'n."

I watched our captain's trademark grin widen across his lips, stretching out his cheeks ever so slightly. "Excellent!" he clapped together his hands, enthusiastically before speedily adding, "not that we're willing to pay. Voluntary service is all. The price of immortality is much more better."

A few excited mutters and murmurs breezed over the crowd. I looked up to Sam, eyebrow raised in utter confusion. He mirrored my expression with a shrug to accompany it. Immortality? What was Jack rambling on about? Had I missed something?

As his eyes caught those of a masculine young man, easily the most capable of the line-up, Captain Sparrow stepped forwards, staring into his face, features in perfect array. "You!" he called, eagerly.

"Aye, sir?"

"Calls himself Swig, Cap'n," Mr. Gibbs input, quickly. Yet again, I found myself glancing up into Sam's sun-darkened face, suppressing a grin when he mouthed the name 'Swig' with a scrunched, confused expression.

"Master Swig," began Jack, wording this utterly ridiculous name as if it were one in which you heard every day. "Do you have the capability and fervour to sail under the command of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow and elude the situation of mutiny at all costs?"

This young man's dark grey eyes flickered with confusion in which I couldn't entirely blame. "I'll always stay true to my captain... Captain," he eventually replied with, his voice thick with an unexpected accent I recognised as Australian. For a supposed sailor, he was rather well spoken. Jack seemed to accept this as the correct answer, patting Swig hastily on the back before taking himself down the line and stopping before a slightly elderly sailor who had to be in his late fifties at the most. Alas, he still looked rather good for his age.

"You look familiar, do I owe you money?" our captain inquired with one raised eyebrow.

This man shook his head slightly with a small chuckle. "The years have done you good, Jack Sparrow. It's me," I watched closely as he removed his hat, allowing rough, greying hair to stick up on all ends beneath a red faded bandana rather like the man he faced. With baby blue eyes shining bright beneath weathered skin, it seemed I should recognise this man. But yet, I could not place his face in my memories.

"Mr. Reece?" Jack's voice exceeded a few octaves or so.

He nodded. "I suppose you're wondering what my story is, Jack?" he asked steadily, looking straight into Captain Sparrow's chocolate brown eyes confidently.

"Yes and no," Jack said. "Yes in the term I just so happen to be wondering if a certain disappearing ship came into your possession when Captain Laura so _sorrowfully_ passed away and no, in the actuality if the before may in fact be the case, we don't have time to be chatting like bonnie lassies and should be sailing to the Fountain with full heart's content. Savvy?"

My fellow companions all seemed to trade baffled expressions, Sam and I included.

"Yes, I have _La Fleur_," Mr. Reece said in response. "I was actually hoping you wouldn't mind sailing on her... With the _Pearl_ and—"

"Settled," interrupted Captain Sparrow. Casually, he flung his arm around Mr. Reece's shoulder, muttering almost out of earshot the two of them had a lot to catch up on.

I didn't know where to look. I wanted to know what was going on but – ha – who would tell me? I smiled at this with an insignificant shake of my head. Sam, his expression just as creased with confusion as my own, arched his eyebrows at my behaviour and chuckled slightly beneath his breath. Not knowing whether he was laughing with, or at, me, I merely continued to grin like an idiot.

"Alright," Captain Sparrow suddenly barked. "All hands on deck! Master Reece, lead the way!"

We both watched as the line-up marched on as ordered. Once Jack turned to me, his lips, once again, wore an all-too familiar smile; "Watch yer back, lass," he advised with a singular nod. I felt Sam edge closer, his arm brushing against mine. I half expecting him to say something along the lines of, 'don't worry, sir. Cat will be safe with me,' but he said nothing.

"Come on," he whispered eventually. "Let's go."

I did as obeyed, walking steadily behind the rest of the group, my best friend at my side. There was something baffling and, dare I say it, strange, going on here. And some time, I would have to pluck up the courage to ask Captain Sparrow about it.

Some day...

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Next chapter will introduce a certain someone I'm rather quite fond of! I'll look forward to inflicted him upon the world of Fanfiction ;)**


	12. Revelation

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011!**

* * *

**Chapter XI**_**  
**__Revelation_

I had no idea how long we had been at sea, but it couldn't be any longer than a week. Maybe even less. Although, this miniscule time period had been stretched out so it dragged on, and on. On to the extent that I thought it would never end. Maybe it wouldn't end. I, after all, was kept rather in the dark compared to rest of the crew. Captain Sparrow muttered much to Gibbs and Mr. Reece, occasionally rolling his chocolate eyes to me before engrossing back into his conversation.

All I could wonder was a simple question: what. What was going on here? What were they hiding? What was the real reason for keeping me and not yet hurling me over board to the depths below?

On the bright side, however, Fitzwilliam had definitely not caught on to my plan. Whenever I panicked, noticing a new ship on the horizon, Captain Sparrow seemed to note it, merely ordering for _La Fleur's_ flimsy blue sails to be dropped. Once they were, the vessel in question sailed either straight on by or in the opposite direction without raising an alarm. Questioning him with a mere raise of my eyebrow, all I got was a smirk and the occasional wink.

I was almost certain there was something rather strange going on now without denial.

Being the only girl aboard, I wasn't requested to do much work, which I was very much thankful for – nautical jobs and I were never going to be the best mix in all fairness. Appreciatively, Captain Sparrow seemed to perceive this, therefore my presence on the ship was very discrete. Sam, however, never failed to be close by.

The day I was assigned my first task was the only and very day I wasn't entirely bored out of my mind. Standing at the helm, I watched in delight as we sailed by diving dolphins with shimmering silver skin reflected in the sunlight. I wondered if these beautiful creatures observed our presence: were they afraid? Were they worried we would have our guns loaded and swords at the ready to condemn them to death?

Watching the youngest splash and chase after his friends made my lips twinge up into a slight smile. They seemed so... happy. So fulfilled. I sighed; as if dolphins could ever have any problems. Lingering on this thought, I envied the creatures – how much I wished I could be carefree was unbelievable. Dropping my lids lightly over my eyes, I exhaled weakly, using my hand as a device to rest my chin upon. Currently, I _was_ carefree. The only question is for how long?

"Lass?" came Jack's sudden inquiry; I heard our captain saunter to my side and eventually turned my gaze up to his contemplative stare into the vast ocean.

"Captain," I managed to respond through my loosely pressed lips, unsure of where this conversation was going to go. I glanced into his deeply tanned face, almost positively certain I had seen him somewhere before; and it was strange. His looks were so different to any man's and his improper manor made it startlingly obvious he had never worked for Fitzwilliam in his lifetime.

His sudden smirk distracted me. Curiously, I arched an eyebrow.

"That lad of yours is quite... intent, is he not?" Jack asked, his gaze flicking to an anxious Sam; I countered this, noticing my friend had his blue eyes rolled slightly back so he had an easy insight into our conversation as he scrubbed the deck, lightly.

I sighed, glancing to my tangled hands and sore, bitten nails I had been forever scolded at for gnawing off like rat devours scraps of food.

"He's my best friend," I whispered back. "He's all I have now."

Hoping this wouldn't raise any suspicion on Jack's part, I glimpsed back to his expression, wondering if this would be a good enough diversion from thinking about my past; the chances are if he knew my mother, he may know Fitzwilliam. Not being able to fully trust this man, I definitely didn't wanting him finding out; what he was capable of, I had no idea.

"Love, if all your heart belongs to is a lad, you'll lose it for certain," Jack said. At the sudden broken tone in his voice, I stared at him, inquisitively; he looked thoughtful. Deep in his emotions. Catching my analyzing expression, he swatted his hand through the air as if swiping at an annoying fly. I took this as my cue to mind my own business.

"I... I don't love Sam," I said, deciding to make it clear, although I quickly found myself adding, "in that way."

Captain Sparrow merely smiled as if I were some love-struck teenager hiding a secret. I blushed although this was definitely not the case. Sam was my best friend; I would never have any romantic feelings toward him if anyone.

"Well, either way, lass, I have a proposal of sorts for you," he announced, these words immediately sparking my interest. After living on this blasted ship with nothing to do for the past few weeks, something to take my mind off all the nonsense going on would be hard to turn down. Obviously, depending on what said proposal was...

I nodded, slowly. Once more, Jack smirked mischievously, dropping a heavy, rusted key into my pale hands. I stared at it as if I had never seen a thing like it in my entire fifteen years. Feeling the captain's eyes still lingering on me, I met them with my own, knitting my eyebrows together in perplexity which hopefully summed up that I was befuddled by this without having to breathe a word.

"I want you to go below deck and fetch some rum for Master Gibbs and myself, savvy?" was what eventually came from his lips. My expression dropped.

"Yes Captain," I mumbled, hoping I sounded as unenthusiastic as I felt. Why he couldn't get his rum himself was beyond me. Slouched, I trailed down below with Constance's ratted skirts sitting bunched in my fists. This increased my scowl further across my face; sailing the seas aboard a ship such as _La Fleur_ was practically impossible to do wearing such long and uncomfortable garments. I had tried begging Sam for loan of a few of the baggy shirts and breeches Jean had given him but he insisted I should stay in my gown.

Apparently our fellow crewmates would treat me like the 'lady I was' if I were dressed as one.

Reiterating these words in my head just continued to drag my frown further over my features. Maybe, just maybe, I would be better off aboard if I was treated more like a member of the crew than a hopeless damsel bored out of her mind.

I let my feet wander their own way, deciding if I ever found the rum storage it would be out of coincidence; Captain Sparrow seemed in no rush, therefore I wouldn't follow a different path.

Twisting and turning myself around an array of barrels, I headed for what appeared to be the door I was looking for with a corroded keyhole matching my rusty key. Like everything else still seaworthy on this vessel, it was old and crooked with holes and gnaws clearly the product of a few bored – and hungry – rats. Quivering at both the thought of the vermin and the persistent breeze nipping at my skin, I crammed the key hastily into the lock, churning it around and around until I heard the lock click.

I entered with caution, instantly wrinkling my nose at the damp, alcoholic stench; I swear, although this room was hardly light enough for me to see my own self, I spotted a rat scuttle across the cracked floorboards.

The direct impression I got was that I was not alone.

In an immediate hurry to part my presence from this deserted section of the ship, I snatched the closest two bottles in both hands, curling my little finger around the thick rim of Jack's key. As the salty puddles of water seeped through my loose fitting shoes, I hurried for the exit, shivers darting up my spine as fast as minnows shoot up streams.

I froze. An abrupt knock of a barrel from behind me just verified my accusation. I was _not_ alone.

My breathing picked up, becoming short and sharp; nervous, terrifying pains shot through my stomach and every limb in my body tingled, urging me to run. But I couldn't. Every part of me shook and brain cells began to roar in agreement. I still couldn't. I was frozen to the spot and now, not the only one with unsteady breathing.

"Um... ahoy there? Avast ye... salty... wench?" an uncertain voice belonging to what was obviously a boy with his vocal chords on the verge of breaking. How foolish I was to continue being petrified – this character could be my age, if not younger. Why should I be still scared? This very question boggled in my mind as I heard him saunter up behind me, steadily. A gasp caught in my throat when I felt a bony hand rest itself upon my shoulder.

With my eyes adjusted to the thick darkness, I hardly had to look twice to know this figure before me was indeed younger than myself; unsurprisingly, he was taller than my short five foot three build however his face had not yet matured and features were still somewhat childish. His glinting eyes had an innocent gleam amongst their dark colouring and cheekbones raised slightly in a way I knew would make most girls skip a billion heartbeats. I, however, was staring at this boy for more reasons aside from his dashingly good looks.

He was another familiar face. Another familiar face I know it was impossible to have seen. Another familiar face I couldn't put a name to.

"Are you... alright?" he asked after a moment or so, snapping his fingers before my face. I blinked out of my daze very much to his amusement, a smirk winding over his lips which accented his straight, white teeth.

"Why are you here?" I asked before I could come to my senses. "What are you doing in Captain Sparrow's rum closet?"

He beamed at me, shaking his tousled dark hair from his eyes. It was at a rather long length, exceeding just about an inch below his chin with stray, knotted strands dropping from beneath his worn grey bandana and falling down to his cheekbones.

"Can't a man enjoy a drink once in a while?" he chuckled, holding a hand to his linen-clothed chest to my further bewilderment. I must've killed his light-hearted joke with my serious glance; to be honest, Reader, I was still in shock. After all, it's not every day you come across a young boy in a rum closet aboard a ship with, dare I say it, _magic_ sails that throw other ships instantly off course.

"H-how old are you?" I stammered.

His brow furrowed. "Relax, relax," he said, holding up his bruised and battered palms in surrender. "I was only joking, lass. For the empathy of the moment. If it's any consolation, I don't even like the stuff. Gives ya an awful burn in the throat." I continued to gape at him, which triggered a conceding sigh to be breathed through his lips.

"Sorry," I apologized, my ridiculously pale cheeks heating into a blush.

"Meh," grunted the boy, with this strange response immediately scarring lines into my forehead. This new acquaintance of mine was quite a peculiar one. Mentally, I released a short laugh of irony; he almost reminded me of Captain Sparrow.

"If you really must know," he continued before dipping into a deep, flamboyant bow, "I, Alexander Jacob Mason, English born, Caribbean bred, am at the current age of fourteen years and five whole months." Flashing me a toothy grin from the darkness, I felt his large hand brush forward towards my own. "Pleased to meet you, _milady_," his finish came with a sarcastic flicker of his tongue.

Muscles stiffened into an unmoving stance, all I could do was stare until 'Alexander' lowered his arm and, once again, sighed.

"You... don't speak much, do ya?"

True to his calculation of my behaviour, I remained silent. I _wanted_ to say something. I _wanted _to inquire as to what he was doing aboard _La Fleur_ and why he was aboard in the first place, but the words were jammed into my throat. Lamely, all I could manage was a tiny squeak.

To my surprise, he sympathetically curved his mouth into a crooked smile, catching me completely off-guard as he mumbled the words; "tough life, eh?" Once again, I was bewildered. I felt my jaw drop slightly, creating an 'o' shaped dip with my lips; how did he know? How could he tell?

"I... I... How?" I whispered, hoarsely.

Alex raised one shoulder into a nonchalant shrug, turning steadily away from me. "Haven't had the best life myself, Cat. It's Cat, right?" I nodded, hastily, trying hard not to linger on precisely how he knew my name and allowed him to continue. "Grew up on... some island with my mum who hardly had enough money to keep herself alive, let alone me. And then my _dad_," he pulled a face of disgust at this, "my _step-dad_. That's the reason I stowed away..."

I inhaled an alcohol-polluted intake of breath, gazing intently into his eyes, urging him to continue.

"And _that's_... kinda why I'm here..." I felt his short tale come to a conclusion – and let me tell you, Reader, my heart was pounding hard against my chest for no apparent reason, almost if I could sense something extremely bad was about to be revealed. And, once more, I would be caught up in the reality of it all.

With his face dropping to seriousness through the darkness, Alex's eyes glinted to my own, widened to the size of uneven shillings. "If I tell you something," he breathed, "you must promise to not tell _anyone_... yet..."

I flinched, my blood pulsing sharply through my veins. I stumbled back until I felt the cool, dark and decomposing wood of the doorway press against my back, the dampness soaking through Constance's thin linen gown and stinging on my desiccated back. You may be unsurprised that I was, once again, lost for words. He seemed to take this as my acceptance to his promise which I could understand on his part – I had probably already given him the impression I wasn't going to breathe a word to the crew.

"Alright..." Alex began, slipping a hand through his dark, tangled hair. "The reason I stowed away is to find my real father. The ship isn't heading for him, and the ship itself won't take me to him. In a way. You see... I... did some _researching_ and... and I have two possible fathers. And... the one I came for is... aboard this very vessel..."

I felt my jaw drop slightly, though deciding not to sum up all the possibilities until the boy before me finished what he was going to say. I can assure you, the shock of this next revelation knocked the breath from me in disbelief. As Alex's next words were as follows;

"Cat... I think Captain Jack Sparrow is my father. Savvy?"

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Yup, I had it planned all along :) What a charming little family we're building up here, ahaha! Suggestions, comments, reviews and criticism are always welcome and adored! Humour me, will you? **


	13. Story Telling

**Author's Note:**** Boring chapter. Believe me, I revised and wrote it, lmfao :') Hopefully you all won't mind!**

* * *

**Chapter XII**_**  
**__Story Telling_

I didn't know how I was supposed to react.

My brain wouldn't function, wouldn't send messages to my body, wouldn't tell me what to do with this new exposure in consideration. The most I could do would twitch the joints of my fingers, lamely. I supposed, in between the slight in closure of my mind, I was shocked. After all, why wouldn't I be? Who would have thought Captain Sparrow – _Captain Jack Sparrow_ of all people –would have to soon deal with a teenage boy denied a father figure his life?

Alex, with one eyebrow arched (a mannerism he and his supposed father shared, I could now decide), hadn't blinked since his news had been broken. I realized he was waiting for my reaction, but I honestly couldn't get my cracked lips to move. I was merely staring past him and into oblivion.

"Are you... alright?" he eventually poked through our shared silence. I was hesitant to nod.

"S-sorry," I croaked. "I'm just a little..."

"Shocked?" Alex finished for me. It was hard not to resent Jack's smile upon his lips – I couldn't seem to accept it. Captain Sparrow had a son. Captain Sparrow. Had. A. Son. I also couldn't help but wonder about Alex's mother – it wasn't even slightly doubtable she was a woman like Scarlett to my mind. I shuddered; that trip to Tortuga would scar me for life.

And then, without a second questioning, he leapt into his story; and I have to say, it was quite an extraordinary one. As a matter of fact, if it was but a mere folk tale, and had not actually happened to the innocent young boy before me, I would have found it quite enjoyable. Of course, listening to Alex twist his tongue around the words made my pale skin prickle and my toes curl beneath my shoes.

It started with a woman – a beautiful one, of course – who went by the name of Nicolette Mason. It didn't take a genius to figure she was his mother, even before he explained to me in far too much detail the night of passion in which she spent with Captain Sparrow. He flailed his arms as he announced Nicolette, by spending the previous night with Jack, had lost what she had been saving for her fiancé until after marriage and, wracked with guilt, she left him.

I continued to listen as Alex recalled events as if he were there, where Nicolette accidently found herself into the arms of another man – I assumed this made him my new acquaintance's second possible father.

"And that," he said with a groan, "is how she met _Jacob_."

Jacob, as Alex so proclaimed, was a violent and disturbed man. By the time she had met him, Nicolette had fallen pregnant without a clue which man – a Mr Lindsay or Captain Sparrow – was the father and an emotional wreck. Desperate for some affection, she accepted his proposal of marriage after a mere few weeks and moved away to the Caribbean shortly after Alex's birth.

"The worst part is," Alex stopped with a grimace, "is the fact I have to be middle-named after that twit. Good thing I like the name Jacob, eh?"

I blinked, unsure of how to react. With a smile, the adolescent continued;

"Well, we got to the Caribbean and I grew up there. With Mum... and _that_... I was treated like a piece of trodden in dirt on the carpet and Mum was treated like a queen. She had no idea what a bastard she'd married... Until she died..." He took in a deep breath and I found myself flinching. "She told me to find my father and to never look back. So I am... sort of... kind of..." He glanced into my bewildered expression and twitched up his lips to an encouraging smile.

However, at the effort of compelling happiness upon himself, his expression fell to sadness and body flumped to a nearby barrel, head buried in his hands.

"I'll tell you one thing, Cat, if this Captain Sparrow isn't my father, it's gonna be a bloody nightmare."

Unconfident whether I was supposed to answer, I stood solemnly on the spot, the shifting my feet ever so slightly acting as my only movement. The cold air of the rum cellar prickled on my bare arms, a sensation I wasn't entirely satisfied about feeling. Noting my coldness, Alex once again sighed, most likely thinking it best to distract me;

"So, what's the deal with you then?" he asked.

I stared. I felt my heart stiffen in my chest; I couldn't tell him, could I? I couldn't I knew I couldn't... but there was a commotion – a fighting urge – locked beneath my skin that needed to let it all out. I craned my head ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his chocolate eyes through the darkness. Alex wouldn't tell. He wouldn't tell... would he?

"I won't tell," he said, sincerely; I flinched at this sudden statement. It was either a sheer coincidence he could tell the thoughts playing within my mind or he could read them. My inner self scoffed at my curiosity and so I found myself whispering through pursed lips;

"Promise you won't. Promise you won't tell _anyone_ even if they ask. It _is_ serious," I spelled out every syllable for him, hoping this effect would buy me his silence. Once I saw him nod through the dim light, I prepared myself for what I was about to do; the story I had witnessed and kept hidden where no-one had a hope of discovering it was about to be told through my very own lips and I surprisingly had no doubts.

So I told him.

Starting with the sequence of my dreams, to the imprisonment in London, to the friendship with Sam, to the dreaded, terrible ball, to the anticipated escape, to the uneasy trip to Cornwall, to the encounter with Jean and Constance, to Captain Sparrow, to stowing away, to Tortuga and even right to the very spot I stood in currently, spilling out the words and finding it easier than I could have ever imagined.

Playing from his expression, I realized it was time to stop, a last breath fluttering from my lungs and into the damp air around us. Alex remained silent. I wondered if I should perhaps let him know I had finished with my tale but he wasn't one to remain quiet for long.

"Not exactly what I had in mind," he decided, rising from his seat. I nodded slowly. "But I'm glad ya told me!"

My eyebrows knitted together. "Why?"

"Because now, I can protect you if Fitzwilliam ever comes for you!" he exclaimed almost like a little boy would to his endangered mother. He raised one clenched fist to the air, standing before me like a worldwide hero and I couldn't help but giggle. If anything, I could tell Alex and I were going to get along quite nicely.

x

We had both been sworn to secrecy; I was not to tell Jack of his presence aboard _La Fleur_ and in return, Alex would not breathe a word about my past, and most importantly, Fitzwilliam to anyone. Rum bottle in hand, I paced back up to the main deck with a smile – I felt as if a colossal weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I half wanted to skip, but the deck was soggy beneath my feet and rolling waves occasionally threw us aside. Eventually, my senses decided against it.

"Cat! Where've ya been?"

Sam, sprinting towards me on his well-grasped sea legs, let a waterlogged cloth drop to his feet, forsaking his chores to check on my simple self. I couldn't help but groan – I was defiantly not worth all of this fuss.

"I-" I paused. "I went to get some rum for Captain Sparrow..."

His brow seemed to furrow beneath that sun-darkened ginger hair. "Ye've been gone over an hour. I was gonna come look for ya, but-"

"You shouldn't have!" my voice exceeded a few octaves higher, instantly arching Sam's eyebrows in curiosity. I winced; well, that undeniably seemed to say 'as a matter of fact, Sam, I _am_ hiding something. Feel free to take a guess'. Once more, I found myself quite a fool.

"Cat..." he said, voice low and gruff, with eyes glassed over as he captured the lingering of my own. Forwardly, he demanded, "what are ye hiding?" with all emotions of the old Sam – my caring, loveable best friend – replaced with earnestness. I bit down on my lip.

"I-" Could I say? Could I tell my lifelong friend of the boy hiding in the rum cellar? I felt Sam's long fingers grapple themselves tight against the muscles of my arms and my eyes flickered, threatening to squint shut amid the agony of his grip. But I wouldn't say. My toes coiled against the ball of my feet under the wrecked material of my shoes in determination.

Determination to keep my promise. To the boy I hardly knew.

"JACK!" We were both, conversely, thrown greatly off course. I watched Jack saunter to Mr. Reece at the panic of the elderly sailor's call. The sky, fallen to a grey, clouded field above our heads, let out a low rumble, like the distinctive croak in a bull frogs throat. I glanced up to Sam for that reassuring smile; I was quick to fluster when it didn't befall upon his lips.

"I'm hoping this is important, Mr. Reece, you've dragged me away from the rather important endeavour of thinking..." I heard Captain Sparrow retort, in his classically eccentric way. Unfortunately, the reply was not good.

Reader, I cannot tell you how much I begged I would never have to hear one word whispered from an observer's lips:

"Hurricane," Mr. Reece called it, "and it's coming for _us_."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Hm... Now, I'm off to research 'how to write sea battles'... Thanks for the read, your interest is very much appreciated! Much love!**


	14. The Chest of Laura Smith

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter XIII**_**  
**__The Chest of Laura Smith_

I spent a long period of the said hurricane with my ear pressed close to my cabin door. I was desperate to hear movement, even if it consisted of just a step or a slither of breath. But there was nothing.

I had been forced to cower below deck in my small, assigned cabin. I wasn't particularly fond of staying within the depth of the hurricane with the rest of _La Fleur's _petrified crew, but dragged by the wrist to a solitary confinement was perhaps worse. I had tried to occupy myself with the very sparse amount of objects sitting under my bed but they had quickly been laid aside and my boredom reignited.

_Thunk! _I staggered with the weight of a wave beating against the ship, my knee colliding with the sharp edge of one of the many objects covered with one singular white sheet, lining the one side of the cabin. I gasped in pain; glancing down, an indent had been made upon my white skin, and a thin line of red blood began to trickle down the remainder of my leg. What, I inquired, could be hidden beneath the sheets?

Ignoring the shooting pain, I bent to my knees, rolling the ancient sheets away from the solid objects slowly. Regarding the fact I had never been told to leave the sheets or never to touch by Mr. Reece, I denied myself of feeling guilty and twitched my fingers along the smooth wood until I felt the metal prickle of an opened lock.

A chest. A treasure chest.

I stared at it in awe. I had never truly seen a chest like the one before me; it was rimmed with gold and fancy metals, indented with intricate patterning and its edges had been gnawed away with the bite of age. It was the chest of a seafarer, of a sailor, of an adventurer. The chest of a pirate.

I couldn't find a justified reason for the excitement I felt. What could it hold? Treasure? Even so, it would already have a known existence by Mr. Reece as it was quite noticeably unlocked.

Without a second thought I flung it open, grasping into my hands the first object I came across.

A worn leather book with two simple letters scratched into its surface: LS.

Intrigued, I drew back the pages finding this was nothing more than a diary accompanied by many sketches of scrawled maps, notes and inked drawings of ships and the seafarers sailing them. After flicking through it several times, my fingers found a contorted page, bent and creased back. I smoothened it out and decided this were the page I was to read.

_Diary, _it read,_ I am fuming._

_It is too late now. Arabella is too far into the pregnancy to terminate it and is even more so reluctant to give up her unborn child than before. To make matters worse, I have discovered this unfortunate baby's father. Needless to say, I am not entirely happy about it._

_His name is_

And then nothing. There was an inked whirlwind over the name and the remains of the creases in which I had flattened covering it. My mind, at this moment, was urging me to leave it. This was the diary of a woman going through a hard time and it was clearly not for my eyes. But there was a pulse in the pit of my stomach that resisted. Something was telling me this _was_ for my eyes indeed, and I was beginning to develop a hunch as to who the author of this piece was.

_Diary,_ the next entry began, _I am still fuming. _

_I am refusing to speak to Arabella until she considers this maturely. She is my daughter of eighteen years and has by no means any reason to keep this child. The father is a man with blood on his hands and the entire Navy on his heels. And she says she loves him. Ha! _

_Reece appears to think I am exaggerating and that he is "not so bad" and "Belle can cope." But we both know that's not true._

_I hereby make a wager; there is not a chance this child will be raised by my daughter or my name is not Captain Laura Smith. It will be raised by another and I guarantee that will happen without my interference. _

I felt a thud and was flung aside. My head began to pulse and I looked up at the ceiling, realising the hurricane outside had thrown me to the floor. I ignored new pains engulfing my body and continued to read with shaking fingers as I knew I was close to the truth.

_Diary, the baby has been born._

_Already a sprouting of _his _dark hair and eyes I can barely make out. Her lips are thin like Belle's and nose like my own but her attitude is already all his. She made a fuss when being pushed from the womb, more than any child I have ever known to. _

_It was minutes after she was born Belle informed me _he _doesn't even know of her birth and I am not to tell him. I have decided it is not so bad with him not involved. She will be raised by my daughter, I retract my wager. I will help Arabella care for her when I make port. _

_She will be ours. Our Cat._

Cat. Cat. Cat. Cat. That was me. That _is_ me.

Laura Smith is my grandmother. This was her ship. I am living in a room she once walked in and I am sailing with man she once trusted. Anger boiled through my system. All this time Mr. Reece must've known. He must've.

Captain Sparrow would be in on it. In on whatever was going on.

I began to see stars but wouldn't let myself fall from consciousness. Laura could still be alive and so could my mother. If I could just get to Mr. Reece I could explain. He could help. I tried to stagger upright but I collapsed back to the ground, banging my bones as I went. I saw blood trickle from the top of my head, felt it run down my nose and tingle on my lips.

The corners of my vision were fading to black. I was going. Going, going, going.

Gone.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Oh, oh, oh, the drama! I'm in a happy place with this story right now and hopefully you're all enjoying the read! ;D I live off criticism, kids; abuse me! ;)**


	15. Secrets

**Author's Note:**** So, will Cat be finding out the truth of her heritage yet? Let's find out...**

**AGAIN, revised on January 9, 2011. It's been a loooong day.**

* * *

**Chapter XIV**_**  
**__Secrets_

I had been dreaming of Laura Smith as I lay there, unaware my own blood was pooling around me like a crimson puddle of the ocean itself.

She looked very much like the way I had dreamed my mother, only she was taller, brasher and more authoritative. Her features were harsh in many ways, but there was no use in denying her beauty: thick auburn waves and swimming brown eyes were all I could imagine that kept her rowdy crew going in the cold nights when times were angrier than the sea's hurricanes and more callous than the devil himself.

It was then I woke up, just as the very sight of a younger Mr. Reece approaching my grandmother with blackened papers in hand came pending to mind.

My throat felt instantaneously thick, the taste of a bloody lip lingering, and my head began to throb as I twisted myself up onto the pillows propped behind my back. I had to focus my vision – in which was still merged into a blur since my fall – to recognise my surroundings. Captain Sparrow's cabin. It wasn't much of a shock; Sam would have suggested this would have been the safest place for me to recover as soon as I was found. What challenged me further was the figure sitting in the murky corner. Or, to be more precise, how he came to be sitting there.

"A-Alex?" I croaked, rubbing my tired eyes.

He looked up from the papers he had been steadily analysing and gave a one-sided grin; the one I immediately associated with Captain Sparrow and his wily ways.

"Up at last," he smiled, rising from his position. "I was beginning to think you'd never snap out of it, Cat. Am quite glad you did though; the crew have a rather noticeable smell and I would much rather prefer to be in with the only other person aboard this ship that believes in personal hygiene."

I smiled, wondering how long it had taken him to conjure up his little witticism. Pushing it hastily to the back of my pained, pounding mind, I quickly asked; "why are you in here? Does Captain Sparrow know?"

His smile seemed to shrink. "Unfortunately... yes..." he sighed, perching on the edge of my bed with a slumped posture. "I had to tell him who I might be and why I may be here otherwise you'd have most likely died, get crushed by Mr. Reece's covered chests or been left unconscious and bleeding in there." He jerked his chin down to emphasise his point and shifted upright, kicking off his battered shoes and crossing his legs one over the other.

"He seemed to act... nonchalant. But it was a defence mechanism. I do it too," he paused, beginning to muse. "I suppose he really is my father, eh?"

Noticing his twin smile to the captain's, the way his chocolate eyes gleamed even in such dull lighting and the extravagant hand gestures to accompany his words, I nodded, mouth slightly dropped; it was hard to believe the fact two people could be so similar even with the evidence sitting shyly on the edge of my bed.

"I'm sure he was just in shock," I attempted to comfort him. "You'll soon get to know each other."

"Do I really want to though?" he muttered. "It's a weird phenomenon, Cat. He's... he's just... y'know, he's..."

"He's standing outside."

Alex's dark eyebrows knitted together, confusion painted as a smear across his face. "You what?"

I lifted a finger, steadily pointing to the shape of Captain Sparrow lingering outside the cabin door. If I didn't know any better, I would have said he was merely casually ducking into the shadows of the wooden ship walls but both Alex and I knew he was hiding; avoiding the eye contact of his fourteen year old son. Seeming to follow our gazes, Jack backed further up believing we were fools not to have noticed. I simply rolled my eyes.

A stifled snort of humour came from that of my companion's lips and I quickly retracted my attention from his father to him.

"I'll be going now, m'lady," he forced back a grin, leaping from my bed and ducking into an overstated bow. "Master Sam will be wondering how you are and he wouldn't be the slightest bit pleased with me if I sent you out into the open air to tell him yourself. Besides," he glanced slyly over his shoulder, "my _father_ appears to be wanting a word with you." He winked, "later Kitty Cat."

I snickered at my new given nickname as I rolled awkwardly onto my side; if there was any confrontation to be going on with Alex and Captain Sparrow during his passing to my room, I didn't want to be a witness. After a few moments and hearing nothing but a door creaking shut, I turned back to face Jack.

And it all came flooding back to me. Laura's diary. I saw it sitting by my bedside and couldn't fight my queries any longer.

"Who was Laura Smith?" I blurted, biting instantly down on my bottom lip once the words had passed. The captain stared at me, cut off in the middle of a sentence I hadn't been listening to. His eyes twitched at the lower lids and I couldn't help but cringe; was this a mistake? Besides, why on earth would he have anything to do with my grandmother after all?

"I'm not telling you," he suddenly replied, rather childishly slumping into Alex's previous seat in the cabin's corner with one leg perched over the other.

Bewildered, my mouth formed an 'o' and I couldn't stop myself from going on; "I need to know, Captain Sparrow! If you know, I must hear of it! Any information of her could lead me to my mother!"

"Believe me, love, the fortune of that woman would not lead you to Belle and even there was the trivial chance it would, I wouldn't like to come face to face with dear Captain Laura again. I wager most of the crew would like to keep the skin on their backs," he argued back, words becoming warped into another riddle, another lie forced upon me.

"But I found her diary!" I almost shrieked. "I have to find out the truth! Please listen to me! I was taken away from my mother when I was a baby by a man who intended to marry me when I became of age! His name was Lord Fitzwilliam P. Dalton the III! Laura is my grandmother and I _have to know_!"

At the mention of Fitz, I noticed Jack's dark eyes widen and quickly droop. Almost like he was at an instant ease... suddenly nonchalant. A defence mechanism, I recalled from Alex's query. My thoughts began to whirl and spin until a list was formed, behind my eyes yet so clear as if I had visualised it from a distant memory.

Jack was linked into my past, whether he knew it or not. He knew my mother, he knew my grandmother; what were the chances he knew my mystery father in which Laura had been so ashamed of? And what of Jean? What of Constance? What of Fitzwilliam? What purpose could they have served him? How in the name of the Lord could all of the people suddenly in my world have such a coincidental effect on it?

"How did you know them?" I continued, heavily breathing and resisting the urge to grind my teeth together in anger. "How did you know Jean and Constance and Fitzwilliam and Laura? How did you know my mother?"

"Now, that," Jack pointed a finger at me and looked down it, his eyes rolled back and expression unreadable, "is no business of yours, love."

I could hardly believe what I was being told, or what I was seeing. Captain Sparrow was quick to rise, rum bottle in hand, and was even quicker so to reach for his cabin door, exposing sunlight to my aching head as he flung it open. He sauntered casually across deck, completely unaware of the anger consuming me. Why, I asked myself, would I have to stand for that? I may have been a shy little aristocrat months ago, but I was no longer. I was Catalina _Smith_, granddaughter of an infamous and feared pirate. I would wear it with pride. I would not stand down nor cower to the likes of him.

"Whatever you're hiding," I cried, scrambling from my bed and throwing my sheets aside, "I will find out! You can't keep this from me! I must know my past, Jack! I will figure this out!"

Tears welled in my eyes; I knew the crew were watching but I couldn't bring myself to care.

"Excellent, love," Captain Sparrow called from over his shoulder. "My best of luck to you."

He disappeared below deck before I had a chance to follow. I felt a fool; I wore a nightgown still bloody where my knee had been cut and a bandage was secured around my head where the injury was most likely still present. My bare feet tingled with the sensation of the wooden floorboards I stood beneath and fresh tears stung my cheeks as I resisted the urge to wail aloud. The crew were silent and I could feel their gazes burning on my back. I refused to turn around and stood there in my own sorrow, waiting for Mr. Gibbs to order the continuation of work, for Sam to comfort me and divert their eyes or even for Alex to chirp something distracting and witty.

"Cat? Cat, are ya alright?"

Sam's large hand was immediately on my shoulder and a whisper rumbled through the crowd, the rustle of feet moving as they began to work, filling the dreadful silence at last.

"What's he said to ye, Cat? Did he hurt ya?"

"No," I breathed. "It's not what he _has_ said, Sam. It's what he _hasn't_ said."

With nothing more I could possibly do, the cabin and warm bed was my calling and the words written by my grandmother almost sixteen years ago were the only comfort I could trust for now. There was only one way toward the truth that I could bare to face. And that, I was certain, was engraved among Laura's pages.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Just a quick message to my fellow author **_**nineteennintytwo:**_** I absolutely ADOREEEE the pictures of Jared and Sam! Thank you so, so, so, much! And to all you other gorgeous people, check out her profile! She writes some crackin' fics!**


	16. Of Fishing Boats and Secrets Still

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011. Sigh.**

* * *

**Chapter XV**_**  
**__Of Fishing Boats and Secrets Still_

Three days had past since my quarrel with the captain and I had not seen him since.

Mr. Reece came to comfort me a little after the argument and advised me to return back to the cabin I had been assigned below deck. I hadn't protested, realising I could find much more of Laura's possessions among those sheet-covered treasure chests and hidden items so I said nothing of my discovery to him incase he reacted as Jack had.

Yet, it was apparent he had already worked it out seeing as once I returned, Laura's belongings had been removed and a battered desk put in their place. I had not complained but yet I felt my heart melt inside. I knew now, there was no way on this ship I could access my history and lost memories after all.

I spent the best part of the three days scrawling in my notebook; I worked on many family trees, all of them branching into nowhere. All I knew was that Arabella was mother and Laura was hers. My father wasn't ever much of a father and had not entirely been honoured by my grandmother. I considered all the opportunities; from Trevor, the mentally-challenged ship's cleaner to Swig, the Australian whom Sam had become close too during my absence. Despite the fact all of my suspects were likely too young to be my father, I seemed to have a slither of hope; I seemed to sense he was near.

Eventually, I sucked in a breath of air, now lying on my back and staring intently at the ceiling as my lips mumbled a quick, "no, Cat, your father is not on this ship." It was that moment I realised all of my hopes needed to be shattered before they rose too high and it would hurt too much to find the inexistent truth and have them painfully broken that way.

"Cat? Hey, Cat, let me in!"

Thoughts trailing away at the sound of a light commotion behind my door, I lifted my upper body accompanied with a bored, "who is it?" slipping from my lips.

I heard a snort. "Well, it's not exactly the King of England, Kitty."

"Come in, Alex," I hid a smile while also suppressing a diminutive sigh.

In he sauntered, his black hair a discourteous array atop of his head. His cheeks were smudged and stained with filth and soot and rough hands ingrained with dirt. I found it best not to inquire as to why he was in such a state and minimally offered a quick smile. He returned it and threw himself at the desk chair, squirming until comfy before facing me once more.

"So, when are you coming out of here?" was the first thing that poured from his lips. I blinked in disbelief; of all the things he could have asked, that was the subject he decided on.

"Nobody wants me out there," I told him. "The captain isn't too pleased with me and I am hardly a helping hand towards the crew." I held up a hand when I saw him about to protest. "The only reason I still find myself aboard this ship is to escape Fitzwilliam. I have nowhere to go from here. Recently, I began to hope my trip here would aid me and help me discover my true ancestors but that has hit a dead end and now there is no way forward. I'm beginning to think I'm just doomed here until Lord Dalton catches up with us and drags me back to London for a dull, decided life."

"N'aww! Don't say that, lass!" he whined. "_I_ want you here. You may not be so helpful with the ropes and stuff but neither am I. Jack doesn't seem to give a rat's ass I'm here so we can both be rejects together. And as for Lord Fitzdalton, well, I wouldn't let him get anywhere with you anyway. Besides, if I can find my family out here on the waters," he slipped over to my bed and sat down on the wooden floorboards in front of it, facing me with the hugest grin I could have possibly imagined, "so can you!"

I felt my cheeks flush, my spirits immediately uplifted. "Thank you, Alex. It's good to have you around."

"Couldn't agree more, Kitty," he beamed back, the dimples in his tanned cheeks deepening with glee. It was at that moment in time, I realised – maybe, just maybe – this voyage would be worthwhile after all.

x

"What is _that_?"

A short week down the line, I stood at Captain Sparrow's side after managing to make amends due to Alex's persuasion. My younger friend hovered at Jack's other arm; after a cluster of days of avoiding his son's existence (occasionally even squeezing into tiny gaps and ducking behind large objects when he had merely approached), it was apparent Captain Sparrow had accepted Alex and was unhesitant to prove his work as captain to his new relative.

Jack squinted further into his golden telescope, his expression scrutinizing the distant bobbing shape we all saw. "What _is_ that?" he inquired, raising one eyebrow. I exchanged a quick and confused glance with Alex who eventually spoke up;

"It's a _boat_, Pops."

"Ah, but is it really, Alexander?" our zany captain responded, slipping his telescope away safely into his pocket. "Could it not be a misshaped whale or clan of mer-lassies tanning themselves from a floating rock surface?"

"It has sails," Alex wisely pointed out; I hid the thin smile I felt tickling my lips. "And people waving at us."

"Perhaps this time lad," Jack grumbled in defeat, "but in the future, let us all search for the things we can't see, shall we not? Some things could appear to be something, but who's there to say things are always said some in which we believe they are, savvy? Lesson one to captainism, mate: keep an open mind."

I blinked, completely lost in the transaction, but Alex, who seemed to understand perfectly simply nodded along, taking his father's every word – as mad as they seemed to be – into account. As strange as this 'quality time' appeared to me, I could tell, despite his nonchalant display, Alex was worked up inside, excited by the mere fact his father had eventually recognised his company and had taken an interest in his 'education'. Considering this, I offered an encouraging upturn of the lips instead of a perplexed frown in Alex's direction.

"Now, shoo," Jack waved his hands at us, adding with a detection of sarcasm; "daddy's working."

Rolling his eyes, the younger Sparrow turned away, dragging his feet along with him. I stayed put at our captain's side, secretly yearning to ask Jack a singular question, but also knowing with a great sense of disappointment, he would shake this very inquiry off like an insignificant bug making home amongst the fibres of his cloak. He yelled commands at Mr. Gibbs, ordering us to sail towards the fishing boat we had identified and I realised it would have to be now or never. This question couldn't wait.

"Captain, where have Laura's treasures been taken?"

Jack's face instantly dropped; I could still see he was unwilling to pick up on it. "Love, haven't we been through this?"

"I'm not asking you to explain, Captain. Whatever your opinion, I respect. All I want is my grandmother's things. What harm could it possibly do?" Surprised at how my confidence had grown over the past few months, I found no excuse to stop here; "any information could lead me to my mother; I didn't just come to the Caribbean to escape Lord Dalton. I want to find myself. And you can help me. Please?"

Silence. I dared not to look directly into his eyes incase the outcome was something I feared. Could he be considering it? Would I soon be the owner of my grandmother's lost items and the key to my past?

The answer, I hear you ask, dear Reader?

No.

It all happened so quickly. I heard a cry of my name; a frantic, desperate – yet nonetheless excited – cry. I lifted my chin into the fresh air, completely baffled at who could be calling me from that boat. I listened closer and eventually it struck me like a baton does a ball, like a beating stick does a drum. I felt a spasm of joy in my stomach; a French brogue? The calls of both a male and a female? Who else could it be but Jean and Constance?

"It's Jean!" I declared, looking straight up to Jack. "Jean and Constance! They came for us!"

"Well, slap me arse and call me Sally!" Sam stated – rather randomly, might I add – from behind us, a glowing grin stretching his cheeks out to the extent I was positive it was impossible for him to not be pained by it.

"I'd rather not, mate," Jack cringed, "the last time I tried that on a man, I ended up in a rather formidable position..."

I could think of nothing better suited to respond with but a raised eyebrow.

x

"Cat! Oh, Cat!" I managed to suck in one last sweet breath before I was painfully engulfed in Constance's iron grasp, unable to feel beyond the joints of my elbows. I wheezed out, gasping for breath as she cradled me in her arms as if she were a mother who had just found her lost toddler. I caught the sight of a sniggering Alex and regretted the fact I was unable to frown directly at him.

"We were so worried!" Constance cried, eventually breaking away and inspecting me at arm's length. However, there was something amongst her French tongue that informed me _worried_ wasn't entirely the correct phrase to use.

Deciding not to question it, I offered a smile with a stammer of a greeting before I was pulled once again into another bone crushing hug.

"Ah, changed your mind after all, eh, Jean?" Jack greeted his old friend as Jean hauled both himself and a few satchels – I assumed they carried both his and his sister's modest amount of possessions brought with them – aboard _La Fleur_; his face was chalky and pale and in complete honesty he didn't look at his best.

"Not exactly, Jack..." he trailed off, tracing the outline of the crowd before his piercing emerald orbs fell upon me. He then swiftly added, "we came for Cat." I caught his lips upturn into a smile, despite the fact I was quite certain he was on the brink of chucking up the entire contents of his stomach right there on deck. Discovering just then how much I had missed him – with a pang of guilt for leaving Cornwall and my welcoming friends in the first place – I pressed out a smile too.

"Well, seeing as you're here..." Captain Sparrow picked up upon, as Jean's lips gaped slightly in attempt to speak. The Frenchman pushed them tight together at Jack's interruption; it didn't take a genius to realise our friend didn't particularly have time for the captain's games.

"No, Jack. I need to speak with Cat. Urgently."

"And what would this be concerning, mate?" inquired Alex, instantly stepping to my aid with a dose of curiosity in his voice. I rolled my eyes; another thing I should have perhaps mentioned about Alex, dear Reader, was his newly gained protectiveness. Since Jack's interest in him, it had really seemed to up my friend's confidence. He had secretly seemed to appoint himself as my personal body guard and even found the guts within him to challenge Sam – _Sam_ with his six-foot stance of brawn – and any crew member who found the need to name and shame him as a "snotty child" or "bratty snob."

Fair play to him, I suppose, but this was hardly necessary.

Constance snorted. "And who, _petit monsieur_, are you to question my brother in such a manner?" A small, insignificant laugh trailed from her tongue as she eyed my younger companion's choice of clothing and particularly eccentric actions; "it's almost as if you're..." Her cat-like gaze flickered between a temperamental Alex and ridiculously beaming Jack.

"No..." Evidently, she had worked it out. "You're not... I mean... he's not your..."

"_Ma soeur_..." Jean cut in, as swift as the slice of a sharpened knife. In fact, he was so smooth in interrupting, I hardly noticed the level of cagey, suspicion thickened within his voice, "I think we should perhaps leave our _compagnons_ to resume their work, _oui_? We seemed to have gate crashed when we certainly weren't expected." Then came a long, whispered chain and flurry of words spoken in quick French. Jean eventually steered his gaze towards Jack, supposedly having just asked a question I didn't quite catch; I recall hearing the words "moment" and "private" but, yet, I couldn't be so sure.

"Of course!" Jack grinned his response, broadly, throwing out his arms as if expecting a monumental bear hug by anyone who happened to be passing by. "You can have Catalina's cabin. That is if by some sheer and inclusive coincidence which has in no way been influenced by me, you were considering on _staying_ under such circumstances?" My jaw dropped at this statement; my cabin? Where was I to go? Supposedly Captain Sparrow assumed I could curl up aside Sam's hammock or at the foot of Alex's bed as a pet would do.

"Thank you Jack," Jean replied, flatly. "That is a very kind offer." He turned to me, his expression hard but still presenting glimpses of the loving and caring character I knew behind. "But it would only be fair to ask for your permission, _oui_, _ma chaton_?" His emerald orbs twinkled and I immediately realised the reason he and his sister had so abruptly appeared: they bore news for me on my mother. Hastily, I nodded, barely even able to manage a verbal response.

"_Merci_, Cat," Constance smiled, tearing her sharp eyes away from Alex; I assumed they were in the depth of a 'who-can-glare-the-longest' competition. "I don't think our fishing boat could've survived another day out there," she added with a quick chuckle, "come now, _mon frère._ Let us... unpack..."

With a few stuttered directions, they were gone below deck almost as quickly as they had come.

"Something fishy is goin' on 'ere, Cat," Sam mumbled into my ear. And as much as it frustrated me to do so, I couldn't help but agree.

x

He knew they were there.

The sails were lowered and the ship was shielded by invisibility yet Barbossa knew Jack was near, aboard _La Fleur_. He knew Catalina was there too, but her mother, desperate to pursuit her, after fifteen years apart, wasn't to know this. Not yet, at least.

You see, Captain Barbossa had devised a plan; a twisted, sickening plan yet cunning all the same. Knowing the entire Royal Navy now tracked Jack like they would a lost dog in order to snatch back Cat from his clutches, our elder captain had his own devious ideas inside that cursed mind.

He would use Arabella to take Cat for himself; that way the Navy would follow _the Pearl_ and he would have the perfect opportunity to murder their leader, Lord Dalton, before the man seized immortality and live on, killing the unlawful men of the seas for an eternity Next, Barbossa would leave Arabella with Jack in hope she would clamp onto Sparrow like a limpet until he agreed to follow too, sequentially to take back their daughter. He would hold Miss Cat at ransom, blackmail his nemesis for the charts to the Fountain and sail on his merry way.

Captain Barbossa thought he had it all worked out. But, oh, if he knew... If only he knew...

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Apologies for Jack's out-of-character-ness! Hope you all enjoyed nonetheless!**


	17. The Chase

**Author's Note:****Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter XVI**_**  
**__The Chase_

"Are you mad?" came the penetrating screech from Constance's lips, loud enough to make grown men tremble beneath their very bones. With two hands, she shoved her brother into the open cabin before them and narrowed her eyes so they portrayed a shade of murky yellow rather than brilliant green. "Have you completely lost your mind? _Imbécile!_"

Jean rubbed the arm his sister had been clutching. Her sharp nails had created small, raw indents on the surface of his skin and he was certain if he had been under her clutches any longer she would have drawn blood. "_What_ are you speaking of, _ma soeur_?" he shot back, scrolling through his thoughts in hope of uncovering what he could have possibly said to gain such a negative reaction.

"_Jean_! Open your eyes!" Constance continued to shriek. "I cannot _believe_ you were about to tell Catalina of her heritage _right there_ in front of _Jack_!" She burst into her native French tongue, throwing insults here and there, speaking swift enough to make her brother's head spin with his very attempts to follow.

As she paused, Jean, although with now aching ears, found this as the opportune moment to speak up. "Wasn't that our intentions, Constance?" he demanded. "Poor Cat has been sailing with her father for months without either of them knowing the truth! By the looks of things, Jack seems to have discovered another _petit moineau _before even picking up on the fact Cat is his daughter as well as Arabella's! She has a family here, _ma soeur_. Explain to me why the idea of letting the truth out is so unbearable for you!"

"Because," Constance breathed; she seemed instantaneously calm, seated on the edge of Catalina's bed with her hands folded in her lap, "it was Fitzwilliam's intentions to use Cat to get to Jack..."

She trailed off, slipping her gaze upwards to meet her brother's eyes; with abrupt recognition of the problem, Jean had fallen silent, listening intently to her clarification. Sucking in a breath, Constance continued:

"If we let Cat know the truth, soon so will Jack. He'll use her in return to counter Fitzwilliam's attack and don't deny it," she pointed a long finger as Jean's mouth dropped in hope to interrupt, "because you know as well as I do he will. Trust me, _mon frère_... if we tell now it will end up in a whirlwind of a mess. But if we wait," a smile flickered to her mouth, "then Cat will have her family the way it was meant to be."

Though parts of her elucidation escaped him, Jean had caught on to the overall idea; of course! How could he have forgotten about Fitzwilliam's devious plans and ideas? How could he have been so foolish?

"You're right..." he breathed, rubbing his eye lightly with the back of his hand. "You're right."

"So, we don't tell Cat?" Constance solicited, glancing up through her lashes in hope of a verbal agreement.

A quiet "_oui_" slipped from his lips after just a moment's hesitation. To Jean, it just didn't seem right: his sister was certain this was to protect Cat. In that case, he would be all for the idea but there was something that told him it wouldn't be so bad entirely if the truth was just revealed. Perhaps, he considered, Constance didn't have as much faith in Jack as he did.

"_Yes_," his mind reassured him, _"that's it..."_

x

As the crew worked around us, Sam and I sat in silence upon two barrels against the outer wall of Captain Sparrow's cabin. I swung my legs back and forth, twisting my ankles together as Sam twirled a piece of frayed rope into various knots, in which he pulled apart and repeated after each one had been completed.

"This one," he said with satisfaction, "is called a sheepshank knot." He held it up for me to look at and I took the time away from my thoughts to capture a sideways glance at his handiwork.

"Very nice," I replied, unenthusiastically. As proud as I wanted to feel of my friend's new hobby, my mind was glued on Jean and Constance. Nonetheless, shaking out of it and reassuring myself they would be up from below deck soon, I turned around to a concentrating Sam and asked, "who taught you that?"

"Swig," he answered, hardly taking his eyes off his work. "He says I should practise these knots until tying 'em becomes me second nature." Grinning once again, he showed me a new twist in the rope in which he called a 'figure of eight' knot. Hardly managing to spot its difference to the previous, I simply smiled and nodded, hoping my bemusement wasn't completely scribbled across my face. Luckily, he seemed not to pay any attention and started over once more.

"Y'know Cat, I reckon the life of a sailor is my calling. Perhaps after all this is over I should consider sailing with ol' Jack permanently."

Now, this definitely had me perplexed. "When all _what_ is over?" I inquired, half out of suspicion and half out of complete confusion. What could Sam have possibly hinted by that? When Fitzwilliam had me back in his clutches? When I was safe and isolated on some desert island? My guesses seemed so far off I decided not to bother and, by the look enlightened on Sam's face, it seemed as though even he wasn't too sure what his words could have possibly meant.

"I didn't mean it like tha', Cat..." he stammered. "I meant... well, to be honest, Cat, I dunno what I meant."

"It's alright, Sam," I said. "Just... show me another knot?"

With my false enthusiasm as a blessing, my friend launched into a whole commentary of what he had learned and how he had learnt it as his fingers spun the rope like a spider would spin a web. I tried to listen but after a while or so, I seemed to just switch off altogether. Instead, I found pleasure in straightening out the creases of Constance's old gown in which I still wore, half hoping I would soon be able to purchase a smaller make which would fit my short frame a lot better.

Unexpectedly, my long locks began to pull and dance in a gust of wind I hadn't noticed present before. Sam, observing this weather change too, glimpsed up from his work and glanced around in perplexity.

"That's odd," he murmured. I nodded, deciding not to think anything more of it.

Of course, once our vessel began to descend into an unsystematic, grey shadow, blacking out the best parts of our vision, I retracted this thought immediately.

"Sam..." my voice quivered. "What's going on?"

"It's the _Pearl_!" shrilled a battered crew member before my friend could even shift his lips. "Barbossa's ghost ship! She's come t' take us!" I paused, frozen to the spot; the_ Pearl_? The _Black Pearl_? The ruthless captain of an infamous, malicious pirate crew was on our trail? I bit my lip, looking to Sam for some reassurance; from Alex's tales, Barbossa didn't seem like a character you would want to fall upon in a dark alleyway; or _anywhere_ for that matter.

"Fool! This ship is invisible!" countered another as the crew scampered to the port side to catch a peek at this legendary vessel. "She'll never take us if we can't be seen!"

"But who's ta say the sails are but a fool's myth? Who's there ta say we've not been played along ta believe our ship is invisible? Who's ta say we're not ruled by a liar!" yet another fellow chimed in, directing a shabby finger straight at Jack. "Ya tricked us!" he yelled accusingly.

The captain, suddenly amongst his crew rather than resting at the helm, leaned back as the sailor's nail missed his nose by mere inches. He plainly batted the accuser's hand away, frowning as it sprung back into its original position. With now the remainder of the crew – besides Alex, Gibbs, Reece, Sam and I - glancing at him with narrowed eyes, the captain held up his dirty palms and sidestepped away from his complainant, most likely preparing to launch into the lengthy speech we all felt coming.

"Now, gentlemen, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?" he tried. "Supposing our dear Barbossa has so spotted _La Fleur _among her invisibleness, which I for one very much doubt, is there any man – or woman," he hastily added with a quick gesture on my part, "that believes we can't take her?" A few mutters rolled through the crowd and, in fulfilment, Jack continued:

"And, in my relatively professional opinion, I wager Barbossa is merely passing by for a stock up in the nearest apple-supplying port with no knowing whatsoever we are floating here for no perceptible reason... What say you?"

"Aye!" chorused the crew without uncertainty, hope and gratitude flooding through my system. However, as I was about to proclaim my relief to Sam, I am sorry to say, Reader, my liberation was not long lived.

There was a tremendous ripping sound from above. The sails had been torn by a soaring cannonball and were now flapping wildly in the increasing breeze. Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Any hope of us being unseen and indistinguishable had burst up into flames. Without those sails, I knew, there was no chance of us escaping Barbossa now. We would soon be captured and our ship demolished by gunpowder or cannon fire and ourselves either murdered or tortured in Barbossa's hands. Or, to put it in Alex's words, we were doomed.

"Plan B, Jack?" Jean made a sudden appearance at Captain Sparrow's side.

"Aye," Jack gulped, "plan B, mate."

"And what would that be, Cap'n?" Gibbs inquired, his darting eyes fixated on Jack.

Evidently, it was quite simple: "Run."

x

Reader, throughout my tale so far, I guarantee I have not been one to give much advice or guidance. However, I can now assure you of one thing at least: never, ever, ever, as long as you live, get yourself trapped in the heart of a sea chase.

As uncomfortable as I had been below deck as the hurricane droned on, I can only describe my level of security as being ten thousand times worse as I swerved desperately away from fired cannon balls and fell numerously to the wooden deck as they pounded our ship. The crew flocked together like a mass of solid particles; I assumed most of these men weren't too sure what to do in the case of a sea chase and the few that did were most likely caught up in the flurry of things. Despite the fact I was almost positive we would die in the hands of this bunch, I knew I couldn't cower this time. I had to stay alive; I just _had_ to! Thinking of Jean and Constance and the information they held, I managed to push myself through the crowd until at Alex's side.

"Alex!" I bellowed as my younger friend hopped atop of the very barrel I had been sitting on just minutes prior, "these men are idiots!"

Alex smirked at me, a sparkle amongst the pigments of his chocolate eyes. "You and your aristo ways, Kitty. I guarantee every man here is worth his salt. They'll get us away from Barbs and his ghostly crew of crackpots I'll bet!" Unfortunately, I didn't have such faith. Noticing my clear nervous disposition, he went on; "don't worry, Cat. I told you I wouldn't let that Fitzdalton hurt you. Same goes for Barbossa."

From between my trembling lips, I managed to utter a 'thanks' but yet I wasn't convinced. Alex meant well, no doubt, but he was a boy in denial; it was clear he had not yet tested his own strength and was overestimating its power. Don't get me wrong, Reader, I mean no offence to my friend. In fact, after all the stories told of Barbossa, I wasn't too sure I would be safe in _anyone's_ hands.

My nerves seeming to get the better of me, I found nothing better to do than perch beside Alex as the sailors flocked back and forth in their best attempt to get us away from the_ Black Pearl_ and fast. The youngest Sparrow spoke reassuring words to me but I felt as if nothing could make me feel at ease: my stomach was churning and my mind was hammering against my skull.

My knees quivered and shook when I thought of what this man could possibly do if he caught us and when realising, if he couldn't be escaped, all my friends could be dead, I gagged up as if to be sick, only keeping the content of my stomach down when remembered my stomach was empty and _had_ no content.

As another weapon struck _La Fleur_'s side, another shot of panic ripped through me; she was gaining on us. As a matter of fact, the enemy ship was now so close I could almost distinguish the features of its occupiers. My eyes stung like they were about to give up to my forming tears which were just begging to spill. Considering all the times I had been fearful for my life, all the times I had been threatened by Lord Dalton, all the times I hadn't known what to do that could help even in the slightest, this was by far the worse.

Closer and closer still Captain Barbossa came and I dared not to even watch.

The crew suddenly froze, dropping their ropes and abandoning their stations. Some stared in awe whereas some scampered and leapt away like frightened deer. Though my head was buried in my hands, I knew what was happening: Barbossa's crew were swinging aboard and grabbing our men by the throats, holding daggers to their pulsing necks.

"Cat!" Sam's scream brought me from my isolation. Alex was no longer beside me. I frantically scanned the crowd for my friends. Where were they? They were nowhere to be found!

"Sam!" I called back. I knew I was drawing attention to myself but I didn't care. "Alex! Sam!"

A pair of rough hands bound themselves around my wrists so quickly I barely registered it happening. I screamed, too frightened to cry yet too determined to ensure my friend's safety before I gave in. I called again amongst the flurry of bodies, now weeping the names of everyone that sprung to mind: Jack, Jean, Mr. Reece, Constance, Gibbs...

"Cat!" I heard it again. "Get off 'er!"

"Sam!" I managed to yell once more before a filthy cloth was forced into my mouth. Repulsed at the taste and texture against my tongue, I coughed and gagged, forced to swallow my cries. Tears rolled freely down my cheeks, stinging new cuts that were suddenly on my face. The fear was so strong I barely felt it working away in my system.

I heard a sharp smack and felt hardened wood against my skull; I had been hit. Darkness began to cloud from the corners of my eyes and I knew, once again, I was passing out. Perhaps this was the end? Perhaps this was the last time I would witness a scene, breathe a breath or smell a scent?

If that was to be my fate, I could definitely think of last words more cheering than Captain Barbossa's cackled greeting of:

"Hello Jack..."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** So, incase any of you are wondering when Jack and Cat will find out the truth... I defiantly wager it will be in the next chapter or two! ;) Keep a weather eye!**


	18. The Pirate's Daughter?

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011!**

* * *

**Chapter XVII**_**  
**__The Pirate's Daughter?_

Why was it, I pondered to myself, that most endeavours I happened to encounter alongside Captain Sparrow always ended up in unconsciousness?

Evidently, I hadn't been out that long. As my eyelids fluttered open and my mind parted ways with a rather randomly insinuated dream, the first thing I felt was a burning pull against my stomach. I glanced down to eye a rope, sucking in at my gut and cutting off a minimal amount of my oxygen supply. I grunted, slipping my thumbs between the tiny gap dividing my body from it in attempt to free myself.

It was only after I discovered the entire crew were fastened up round the mast in a tight ring around me, I decided even my best efforts were futile.

"Wh-" I tried to wheeze, clearing my dry throat before trying again, "what's happening to us?"

"Captured by Barbossa," Swig grunted from few men down the line, clearly frustrated. I winced at his tone; it was almost as if he was insinuating I should have known this. Perhaps I would have if I hadn't been knocked clean out. However, now Barbossa had been mentioned, the incident came flooding back mind. I responded with a meek "oh," deciding there wasn't really anything I could have replied with to alter Swig's mood in the slightest.

With nothing better to do, I observed my surroundings in hope to answer a few of my questions with logic.

We were still on _La Fleur_ but Barbossa's black devil ship was resting alongside us, bobbing slowly with the waves. Neither of our captains could be seen; I assumed they were having a discussion of some kind, tucked privately away inside Jack's cabin. The _Pearl_'s crew weren't around yet. There was a tremendous pile of daggers, blades and pistols shoved against one side of the ship and it didn't take me a second guess to realise they were the confiscated weapons taken from our crew after our captor.

Strangely enough, Reader, I no longer felt in fear of my life; boredom had greatly overwhelmed this.

As we sat in silence – only a few coughs and splutters to be heard – I found my eyes wandering across to the deck of the _Black Pearl_ with no intentions to actually spot anything; just to scan the ship's ghostly beauty as a pastime. From its patched sails to its glossy black paintjob, I couldn't help but admire it; surely a vessel as beautiful as this deserved a more suited captain than Barbossa?

Suddenly, my curiosity was sparked. Two figures, their hands bound behind their backs, were shoved forth to the centre of the deck. The shorter of the two – a woman, I presumed – began to worm and squirm in hope to get free. When restrained, she began to yell and scream, her voice shattered with such powerful emotions I could barely distinguish. The pirates restricting her shoved a frayed rag into her mouth and began to march her and her companion –a dark haired boy around Sam's age – below deck with a few sharp kicks and curses as they did so.

Before my own sentiment could respond to this – before I could begin to panic for these strangers and their welfare or even fret for my own – Captain Sparrow burst from his cabin, as eccentric and unconventional as ever with a stern and unimpressed looking Barbossa following close behind.

"Like I said, mate," Jack turned to him, an unquestionable grin smeared across his face, "it's only called an exchange when you have something to trade. Savvy?"

"I'm not handing over my ship to the likes of ye, Jack," Barbossa replied.

He was an odd looking man up close: his face was indented firmly with many scars and he wore a scraggly grey beard as his choice of facial hair. His hair corresponded with this, sitting as a thin and knotted curtain to his shoulders. He was taller than Jack by a few inches or so, his hat of ostrich feathers only increasing this difference. His garments looked expensive and pricey (I came to the conclusion they were probably stolen) and oh, he was old. Perhaps not as old as I had first thought, but he had to be at least ten years Jack's senior.

"Not the ship," Captain Sparrow countered with sparkling eyes. Either I had missed something or Captain Barbossa was as telepathic as he was intimidating. Without exchanging a word, these two captains seemed to have a silent conversation and, understanding completely, Barbossa eventually nodded.

"Very well," were our nemesis's simple words. Two pirates were abruptly at his side; one scrawny and thin with what I could only classify as a wooden eye rolling in one empty socket and the other shorter and chubbier with a rim of greasy hair framing a balding spot atop of his head. I could have sworn they were staring straight at me, whispering among one another. I dipped my head down in hope of escaping their prying eyes.

I then heard the scrape of a dagger and felt the looming presence of the sweating seafarers towering over me.

I winced, squeezing my eyes to a tight close as the thick rope pressing into my gut was sliced straight through. The palms of my hands were tingling and, as thankful as I was for the release on my stomach, a prickle of sweat ran across my bare skin as if I could sense something terrible was about to happen.

I opened my eyes; before I could even react to freedom I was seized by the forearm and dragged to my feet. I yelped as my captors grip tightened and I felt the form of a bruise against my skin.

I glanced to him, my eyes stricken with panic. He shrugged one shoulder up to his ear with a mumble of "sorry, Poppet." I had no time to register our quick movement; I was being dragged across deck, towards the _Black Pearl._ The pirate snatched both my hands, tying them tightly together behind my back. I knew what was happening, Reader; I was being kidnapped.

"Sam!" I stammered. I was shaking from head to toe; I could barely feel past my joints. My stomach was twisting and turning, my insides fluttering like nervous butterflies. I released a tearless sob, crying once more for Sam as I lost the entire feeling of my legs. I knew they were shaking, yet I hadn't realised how much until I glanced down; it was like they were about to give way completely.

"Jack!" I heard Jean yell on my behalf. He was thinking what I was; why wasn't Jack doing anything? I was a member of his crew! I was loyal to him! I had followed all of his orders! What could possibly be stopping him from removing these pirates' filthy hands from me? Sam was yelling, Alex was yelling... What was happening?

I suddenly felt my heart descend into my gut. I felt sick – sick with worry and disgust – when I realised what was happening.

_I_ was Captain Sparrow's exchange to Barbossa! _I _was being taken aboard the _Pearl_! _I_ was being used as the source for Jack's selfish plotting! How could he do that? After the kindness he showed by accepting me as a stowaway, after his protection and few, but appreciated, benevolent words? Could it all have been fake? Could it all have been a plot?

"Cat!" Sam kept protesting as Jean and Alex's lungs failed them. I heard a sharp impact; the sound of boot striking at bone. Whichever pirate was restraining him, Sam had kicked them, unafraid and uncaring of the consequences. I began to weep. Would this be the last time I saw my friends again? A gag was forced into my mouth; I bit down on the dirty fingers of the man who shoved it in and forced open my jaw but my attempt seemed to go unnoticed. A grainy, stinking sack – damp with the stench of rotting potatoes – was pulled tightly over my head; I couldn't see a thing.

I was lifted from the ground and swung down onto a man's shoulder with so much force it knocked the breath from my lungs. I kicked my legs and squirmed my bound body around, making as much effort to get free as I could manage. My friends were still shouting but my hearing was now impaired.

A new cry was brought to my ears; the cry of the auburn haired woman. She was calling my name. She was sobbing and cursing. She was being forced too; I could feel her presence pass us.

I knew I was aboard the _Pearl_ now; it was colder and damper and the friendly vibe from _La Fleur's _forthcoming crew had disappeared completely. Our pace slowed. A felt a pull from beneath and knew we were sailing away. My sobs were now silent but I felt my face had never been wetter beneath the sack I was hidden behind. Choking back on the taste of the material against my tongue, I silently prayed for the potato sack to be kept on; that way I could at least _imagine_ it would be taken away to reveal the faces of my friends.

I was now on the ground, being trailed behind figures who were chatting casually between themselves. A cold draught hit my skin and, even through the thick material of the sack, I could pick up the disgusting scent of rotting flesh and food clearly past its date tingling at my nostrils.

I still could barely believe it was happening! I was the newest prisoner of the _Black Peal_, given up to the ghostly crew by none other than my own captain. The very thought in itself was heartbreaking.

The sack was eventually torn from my head yet I kept my eyes sealed shut for as long as possible. The stench was even stronger than before; I made a huge effort to seal off my senses and avoid the unpleasant tingle against my nostrils but it was fairly evident this wasn't going to work.

"Open your eyes, Poppet," I heard a snicker. I did as I was commanded.

I was being put into a cell; a dreary, dark prison cell with thick metal bars to seal me tight inside. The barred doors opened with an uneasy click and I let myself inside, desperate to escape the rough touch of Barbossa's henchmen. I held my breath; there was naught to sit on but sodden floorboards sprinkled with straw and nowhere to look without your eyes befalling upon sea limpets and critters living amongst the moss coated to the walls. I heard a gargle; whether it came from the bellies of the creatures or my own nauseous stomach I couldn't even tell.

I cowered into the corner, cradling my knees up against my chest. I wanted to go home. Back to Sam. Back Alex. Dare I say it... back to Jack.

"She don't look like his daughter," the confused stutter of Master Ragetti came, drawing my attention from wherever it had been resting at. Whose daughter, I wondered? Could these men have known my father? If so, Reader, I failed to anticipate the answer; after an odd five months being led on by pathetic family errands and having my spirits crushed a thousand or so times I was beginning to come to terms with the fact – if I lived past this day to see another soul – I would have to start addressing myself as Cat the orphan girl.

"She don't act like 'im either," Pintel agreed. I felt his gaze upon me, examining me hard. "I woulda thought Jack's daughter would put more o' a fight."

_What?_

My heart began to pulse in my ears. I felt it in my throat and through my veins. I felt myself go dizzy. I sensed an unmistakeable tremble from the inner walls of my stomach. I felt myself collapse from the inside.

Jack was my father. _Jack was my father._ All this time. All this time I had searched when I shouldn't have bothered. My father was right before me and neither of us had known. Of course! All the clues had been there. Laura's diary. Why he was hesitant to speak of her to me; she had despised him! The auburn haired woman... could she have been Arabella, my mother? How else would have she known my name? Everything made sense. The jigsaw behind my skull pieced itself together effortlessly. Oh, Lord. Alex was my _brother_ and Jack was my father...

And I would most likely never see them again.

That was then I fainted, half wanting to never wake up.

x

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Cap'n?"

Master Joshaemee Gibbs wasn't so sure himself. Though with usual faith in Jack's extravagant plots, handing Arabella's shy daughter over to Barbossa wasn't quite something he could have complete confidence in. Now, as he and his captain stood watching the _Pearl_ speed away into the distance, he knew there was a very slim chance they could get her back.

"Honestly Master Gibbs, I've never thought better," Jack disagreed with his first mate's thoughts in an instant. "With Belle aboard, we can make for the Fountain at full haste!"

"And... the minor predicament of Miss Cat being under Barbossa's clutches doesn't strike ye as something Miss Smith won't quite approve of?" Gibbs tried. He cast a glance straight to the feisty Miss Arabella Smith, being as close to comforted as she could be by both Jean and Constance, who kept her flailing arms at her sides. He gulped; surely she wasn't the kind of woman you would want to get on the wrong side of. If he of all people knew this, why wouldn't Captain Jack?

"Of course not," Jack had confidence. "I wager, Master Gibbs, she'll be absolutely and undoubtedly fine."

Before these men could even register it, Arabella broke from her restrainers, delicate face as red as her flaming hair. She lashed out, her hand making quick, sharp contact with Jack's jaw. His beaded hair flipped, knocking at his face as the slap had just done. At times like these, he regretted his signature locks and wondered if a short, croppy do would be more appropriate.

"Or... not," re-evaluated the captain, rubbing his raw cheeks in bother.

"How _could_ ye?" Arabella raged; the first words she found herself sharing with her old friend in just under sixteen years. "How could ye be such a _self-centred_, _disgusting_ man? _Ye_, Jack Sparrow, are not even worthy of a _life_, let alone a ship of such beauty which, might I add, rightfully belongs to _me_!"

Jack opened his mouth to respond, yet only an unimpressive "it's _Captain_ Jack Sparrow, love," came out.

Seemingly, this was worthy of another slap.

Our captain shuddered, concealing both his irritation and mounting rage. With a plan gone to the depths, he knew he needed to think fast. Arabella would have to come around to his side. The key to open this door was blatantly her daughter; therefore, he knew what he had to do.

"Relax, love," he waved his hand freely whilst sauntering to the helm. As supposed, Arabella followed with Jean and Constance on her own heals, each one of them too fuming to word their emotions. "We'll go back for the lass. Once we find the Fountain..."

"_No_, we won't!" the maiden retorted, hands fixated to her hips. "We're turning around! Now!" She then stopped; to Sparrow, it seemed she was considering it – oh, how he hoped so – but in truth, this fanatical quest for immortality was the last thing playing on her mind.

"Oh, God..." she mumbled. "Ye don't know do ye?"

Perplexed, Jack's eyebrow jerked into an instant raise. What a thing to say. "Come again?"

"Jack..." How was she to drop this bombshell upon him? With an explanation? With a sympathetic smile or unyielding grimace? With none of these seeming to do, she decided on simply letting it out. Feeling both the eyes of Constance and Jean upon her, Arabella closed her eyes and let it flow;

"She's _yer_ daughter, Jack. Cat's _our daughter_."

And that was when Jack fainted, fully hoping there would be plenty of drink when he awoke again.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** So... there we have it... It took me 18 chapters, but the truth is finally out! I hope some people won't be disappointed that Cat and Jack won't be spending much time together after this bombshell, but that's the way I planned it as and... well, if I changed it now, everything would go pear shaped.**


	19. A Captured Sparrow

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011!**

* * *

**Chapter XVIII**_**  
**__A Captured Sparrow  
_

It was strange, waking up from oblivion and knowing I was suddenly more than _La Fleur_'s outcast of an orphan child.

I was Captain Jack Sparrow's daughter. Despite the amount of times I recited this fact, I couldn't bring myself quite to believe it. Weren't children supposed to be like their biological parents, even if only a bit? I was Jack's complete opposite: I was shy and quiet and possibly the most ordinary person to ever walk the Earth. I would never speak the full content of my mind unless absolutely compulsory and I couldn't even go a day at sea without my body writhing and stomach hurling up its entire content.

My father on the other hand... well, he was reckless, extravagant and insane: I was certain some strings had come loose in his head. Whereas I could never find the words to say, he was constantly spurting them, even when irrelevant. And he was a _pirate_. A seafarer. None of this made any sense. Perhaps Pintel had been right; maybe I wasn't Jack's daughter after all? Regardless of all of the evidence, I could still believe this, could I not?

"Miss Cat? Are you awake?"

I swear, Reader, I almost jumped straight from my skin.

I turned instantly – not daring to think of the consequences, or even consider who this mysterious voice could belong to beforehand. My eyes befell upon a sight in which I really should have predicted in seeing. The dark haired boy – the one who had been alongside my mother – was staring at me.

And I'm ashamed to admit, his sparkling eyes had me captivated.

"I-I..." I couldn't speak. How many more surprises could this adventure possibly hold?

He was cheerful, though he looked quite frankly abused: his skin was caked in filth and hands were red raw and blistered. I assumed this was the result of too much work too fast; so much that his own body wasn't used to it. His clothes were torn, face cut and grazed and I was certain I could make out the shapes of his bones beneath his garments, even sitting at such a distance.

"I'm Jared," he introduced himself without a falter. "I was – well, I _am_ – a friend of your mothers."

I nodded. It would have been such a suitable place for me to familiarize myself, but as he already knew my name, (possibly my mother had told him, though the reasoning for this escaped me) I saw no point in it. I curled my legs up beneath me and cradled my knees to my chest, unsure of where to take the conversation from here.

Fortunately, Jared was instantaneous to fill our shared silence for me. "You look like her, you know?" Again, I nodded; I supposed if I was nothing like my father, I may as well look a little like my mother. Despite my situation, though, I was beginning to regret the fact I had been allocated tatty dark locks rather than her vibrant red curls. My looks were bland to say the least; perhaps a head of pretty auburn tresses would spice things up a little? Then realising how ridiculous my thoughts were at such a moment in time, I slapped my palm to my forehead with a groan. Jared found this quite amusing.

"We were on our way to London," he started again, talking more so to himself than to me. He seemed to apprehend this, but carried on regardless: "Arabella wanted to save you from... Fitzwilliam, is it? She's been trying for the last fifteen years, but striking a deal with Barbossa seemed like the perfect opportunity... But he seemed to have some plans of his own."

Noting the stressed expression flickered over my new companion's face, I decided I wouldn't bother digging deeper into his statement. Instead, I examined him further, paying more attention to his dark hair and well-proportioned features this time around. With twinkling blue eyes and such a smoothened complexion, I was positive he would be one to break many hearts on his return to wherever he came from. When, of course, he was back to full health.

We sat in motionlessness silence after that. I had managed to get my head down, but any sleep claimed was restless and too short-lived to revitalize me even in the slightest.

I awoke to the frail scent of stale bread wafting under my nostrils. Placed on a cracked china plate with a bowl of stilled water to its left, I soon realised this crusty roll was for me.

It had a despicable taste but after a few days starved, anything seemed remotely tasty.

Chewing the tough bread, I rotated myself around. I felt in the mood to hear stories of my mother now. I felt in the mood to socialize with this mysterious boy in the other cell. Unfortunately, he appeared to be feeling the exact opposite. Sprawled out on the ground, he was sound asleep: in fact, if it hadn't been for his soft snores and the occasional rise and fall of his chest, I would have mistaken him for dead.

With a sigh and really nothing much else to do, I rolled back onto my side and closed my eyes once more.

x

"Why is it so different for him to come to terms with?" Two days had passed since Catalina's taking and Jean Magliore had eventually found an acceptable place to word his emotions. He turned to Alex, who was carving at a splinter of wood with no aim whatsoever but to pass the time. The Sparrow boy grinned up at him, messy hair cascading from his grey bandana and onto his tanned face.

"Was it such trouble for him to accept _you_ as his child, _mon_ _petit moineau_?"

"Look," Alex stood up, brushing wood carvings from his breeches, "I have no idea what a _mon-ou_ is and if I'm completely honest, I don't particularly like being called it. But potato, _patato_, I'm sure Cat will be fine. At the end of the day..." He spun his gaze to a dejected Sam, sat hunched over upon a barrel and glowered, "she's much more braver than you give her credit for."

It was Constance's turn to interject her views into the conversation. "I fail to see how that answers any of our questions. And _moineau_ is _sparrow_ in _French_."

"Really?" the boy's eyes sparkled. Sarcasm wasn't at all hard to detect as he mimicked her tone, "it sounds like _manure _in _English_."

Her emerald eyes flickered to yellow. Constance's cat-like glare fixated itself on the bratty Sparrow boy. If only she were a cat, oh, she would pounce. However, her comeback didn't quite make it from her lips, pushed aside hastily for Sam's gallant interruption.

"_Shut up_!" shrieked he, bouncing up from his barrel as if something had nipped at his behind. "Shut up!" He lowered his tone. With all eyes now set on him, he found it effortless to continue: "ye're all pathetic! Ya think arguing will bring Cat back? We need t' go after the _Pearl_ an' fast! Ye've all 'eard the stories! What could Barbossa do to her? Anythin' that's what. He's the devil on Earth, that man. Spat up from 'ell, I 'eard."

"Spat up from hell," mumbled Alex in agreement. Falling silent with the remainder of their little party, he thought of his sister. He had never thought of Cat as a sister before: best friend, perhaps, or even close partner in crime, but _sister_... The meaning of the word baffled him. What were sisters? Were they not irresponsible, girlish, moaning elder siblings with but one aim of making their brothers lives a misery? Cat defied all of these points: she was kind, sensitive and quiet, even if a bit on the nervous side. She was loyal and smart and, beneath all of her bad qualities, he saw her as a hero in disguise.

And, after two days without her, Alex was desperately beginning to want her back.

"What of Jack?" Constance whispered, eventually clawing through the silence, "what of Arabella? It's unlikely they'll be yearning to work together again. _Et bien_! They've been locked inside separate cabins for two days! Besides..." her tongue faltered as she wheeled her gaze to sea, "the _Pearl_ is probably long gone by now..."

_CLUNK! _

Any object barricading the door to Captain Jack Sparrow's cabin fell to the deck with an ear-splintering pound. Assortments of glares, furrowed brows and even the few odd-placed glances of sympathy were all on Jack. He, of course, ignored every one of them and sauntered to the helm with flailing arms and a sway in his step.

"Jack!" Jean called. He pursued his captain's footsteps with his sister treading in his. "Jack... are you alright, _mon ami_?"

"_Dandy_!" he responded, turning quickly on his heels. It was the first time Jean could recall seeing such a man sleep-deprived and completely in defiance. "Perfectly... _fine_... I, Master Jean, have just found out I have two adolescent children in the period of two weeks. It's a small world, is it not?" Jean shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Constance for words. She shrugged her shoulders as Jack whipped out his compass and watched the needle spin wildly.

"So... we're going after Cat, now?" It was Alex who eventually said it. His father's eyes flicked up but with no sentiment portrayed.

"Nope! No need, Alexander, lad!" he snapped shut his device and beamed, "we're making sail for the Fountain of Youth: at full haste! Where's Belle? I very much require her professional and _valid_ opinions. By this time next week, I'll make a wager we'll be as immortal as Heracles and will have beaten Barbossa to the finish line. I will then regain my ship and... _daughter_, and we'll be on our merry ways! What say you to that plan, Jean?"

"I say lower the sails, Jack."

Jack's brows knitted together. Not quite the answer he had been rooting for. "Come again?"

Everyone glanced, sharing Jean's eye line. The Creole sailor lifted one quivering finger to direct them further and there it was: the _HMS Valiant_. High-class ship of the noble men, pride of the Navy and – as some may have said – the most dauntless ship in London. No-one, however, saw it possessing any of these qualities. No, at this moment in time, Captain Sparrow's crew could only identify it as one thing and one thing alone:

Fitzwilliam's ship.

With a twitch and a gulp, all words seemed to escape Jack's tongue. All words, that is, but a meagre, "oh bugger."

* * *

**Author's Note:****Hope you all enjoyed the read, drop a review!**


	20. A Meeting With Dalton

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter XIX**_**  
**__A Meeting With Dalton  
_

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Fitzwilliam's long fingers drilled against his desk in such a repetitive manner, it was hard to believe it had not yet driven his cohorts insane.

It hadn't taken him long to figure it all out: Miss Cat's desperate scrawl of a note to her maid was enough to gain him a trail to sniff at. It had led him to Cornwall where news was flying; a young adolescent ginger boy and his panicky 'girlfriend' had been causing chaos in a local grocery store (feeble news, he had thought at the time – Penzance must've been a dull place to live with reports such as this) and infamous pirate Captain Jack Sparrow had been and gone with a spotted stowaway.

Who else could it have been but his intended bride?

The rest was simple. Wherever Jack went, he left a trail of gossiping women and unlikely tales behind him. Chasing this up, the _HMS Valiant_ managed to track down _La Fleur_ within a matter of months. Quite smug with his progress, Fitzwilliam even decided on letting Cat off lightly; he had been having second thoughts of marrying her himself. It was always her mother he had loved – besides, she was a frail little thing; not quite the woman he had pictured her becoming.

"Lord Dalton, sir," bowed a servant, his high-topped hat skimming the floorboards. Fitzwilliam rose at his arrival. "I have Mr. Sparrow with a Mr. Magliore to see you."

Magliore? So Jean was here too.

"Bring them in," he commanded with a flick of his wrist. The servant dipped into a bow again, opening the door to Lord Dalton's cabin. In sauntered Jack, as crafty and crazed as ever with the younger Jean following his footsteps. The years had done them well, so it appeared: though Captain Sparrow looked as rough and ragged as a stray mutt, his charm remained intact and, well, Jean's twinkling emerald orbs were enough to keep him forever young as far as he was concerned.

"Fitzy!" Jack exclaimed, throwing his arms open wide, "it's been a long time!"

"_Á mon avis_, it's not been quite long enough," Jean contradicted. Arms folded stubbornly across his chest, the Creole sailor seemed utterly unimpressed; quite the opposite to his captain, who was now snooping through Lord Dalton's possessions, the light gleaming from his golden molars as if nothing could please him more.

"Jack, Jean," the nobleman nodded to each of his guests, ignoring their previous comments entirely. "I have a feeling you know why I'm here."

Jack glanced up, the lid of a beautiful silver trinket box enclosed tightly in his grasp. And with a smirk, he answered with, "a cup of tea?"

Fitzwilliam was not amused. Already infuriated by Captain Sparrow's wit, the Lord took refuge in his grand chair, crossing leg over leg. He chose to converse with the likes of Jean rather than his wild captain; anyhow, Jack was already engrossed in his prying whereas his companion was all ears.

"You're here for Cat," Jean said coldly before Dalton could speak, "but I'll tell you for one, Fitzwilliam, as long as I walk this Earth and am alive to protect her, you will not get your hands on her. Not again."

"Exactly!" Jack input from the opposite side of the room. He now held a wooden staff between his jewelled fingers, spinning it like a baton when the other men turned towards him. "Because, mate... you _can't_."

As if attached to a pulled string, Jean's eyebrow jumped up into his forehead, bewilderment immediately scrawled across his face. What could his friend be hinting at, he wondered? Smiling slyly, Sparrow seemed to position his features in a way would have effectively broadcasted the content of his mind to the Creole man if he had only understood such bizarre logic.

"Enlighten me, Jack," Fitzwilliam finally spoke, presenting no interest in Jack's games whatsoever. He wanted an answer and he wanted it straight.

"Because the last time I checked, Miss Cat was so _sorrowfully_ sailing away as a taken prisoner aboard Captain Barbossa's ship," he paused, thinking over his last statement, "or _my _ship." He swatted his hand through the air as if shaking away a pest of a bug. "It depends how you look at it, mate." He hoped into a nearby chair, drumming his fingertips against the wooden armrests. Fitzwilliam's expression was blank, but Jack figured it didn't take a genius to note the fury bubbling up inside him.

"And besides," the captain concluded, "is it not tradition to ask a daughter's father before making her a bride?"

"And since when, Sparrow, have you been one for tradition?" the Lord spat. Jack smirked; his teasing had perturbed his old foe as expected. Fitzwilliam's neat hair was already sprouting from its braid and his forehead was already prickled with cold sweat. Jean, having witnessed all this, was still buried up to his neck in bewilderment; it seemed as if Jack was the only one to have a grasp on the conversation, so it was he who continued it:

"Since always, mate," he merely shrugged it off and began to circle a now-standing Fitzwilliam: "so... Lord Dalton, eh? Sailing about on a gallant ship, locking up young lasses and hijacking the vessels of such _innocent_ passer-bys?" He grinned, looking up to Jean with a wink, "and he still manages to keep his shoes polished. Never could work that one out."

But, despite his guests' amusement, Lord Dalton wasn't standing for it.

In a swift turn, he grasped Jack by the collar of his linen shirt, pressing him back against one wooden wall. The head of height he had over Captain Sparrow was enough to gain him the advantage; he was to dangle him like a helpless puppy hanging by the scruff from his mother's mouth. Jack didn't frown, though; his smirk remained plastered in place regardless of the sharp, burning pull against his throat.

"Now listen here, Sparrow. I want my ward and you'll be taking me to her. If we must chase Barbossa to World's End, then we shall," he sneered, though unfortunately, his sentence didn't progress any further than that.

Jean leapt, clutching the nobleman's blazer with his hardened fingers. With all of his strength, he yanked Fitzwilliam backward, dodging as the lord collapsed and tumbled into his desk. Stationary, trinkets, bits and pieces scattered over Dalton and crashed to the floorboards. Such a racket, Jack thought whilst scrambling to his feet. He flashed Jean a grin.

"After you, mate," he dipped into a flamboyant bow. His friend smiled, denying himself an eye roll as the two scarpered from the cabin. Jack began flourishing his arms as if trying to take to the skies which his companion hastily decided to ignore.

The crew were nowhere around. A benefit, the two men supposed, although couldn't help but ponder as to where they could have disappeared to.

"No matter," Jack beamed. "All the more chances of escape!"

"Ah, _oui capitaine_," Jean grumbled, turning his eyes up to the heavens. "What chances of escape do we have? There are no ropes, no planks to cross! _Et bien_! We would be better off waiting here until we sprout wings and can fly back to _La Fleur_!"

Captain Sparrow snickered, doing what could only be described as... well, what _could_ it be described as, the Creole sailor wondered, staring as his captain worked in complete bafflement. "Ah, but why wait for wings, mate?" Jack eventually smirked. His fingers were laced around a rope hooked to the mast. Following its trail, Jean noticed that said rope was somewhat attached to a nearby cannon. Realising this wily plan at long last, he stared to Jack in awe.

"You have to be joking, _mon ami_..."

"SPARROW!" It was Fitzwilliam. He was coming from behind, hundreds of thundering footsteps in synchrony following. Jack made a quick screech, blowing on the lightened pole he held. Still gaping, Jean could only stare as the canon was lit and Jack began to sore through the air in direction of _La Fleur. _He was almost certain he heard Alex's excited cheer as his father crashed to deck.

Fitzwilliam scowled in Jean's direction, his face taught with irritation. "I told you, Jean. Working with Sparrow will only result in darkness."

"And we told you," Jack's cohort retorted, slowly backing away to where his captain had launched from, "Jack could be nowhere as near as dark as you." Almost as if his spirit had been uplifted – almost as if the rush of this adventure had gotten to his head – Jean saluted the nobleman and his brutish crew.

"_Au revoir_, Monsieur Dalton," he smiled, the childlike twinkle in his emerald eyes in attendance once more. "I hope we don't meet again."

And pulling back his arms, Jean Magliore dived, hitting the ocean's surface and disappearing deep beneath.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** In case anyone's wondering, Jean's swimming back to **_**La Fleur**_** not committing suicide. Thanks for the read and the... reviews? Maybe? :') **


	21. Where The Compass Points

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter XX**_**  
**__Where The Compass Points_

It had now been a week. Or had it been two? No matter; all I could tell was that it had been a while. I was beginning to forget the shape and shine of the sun and even failing to remember what light looked like all together. My stomach was in a constant seizure and I was positive if I didn't get a good meal in me soon my body would begin to destroy itself.

It was like a nightmare, to put it forthrightly. I was not cut out for this lifestyle. I found my upbringing a suitable place to lay my blame. Think about it, Reader: I was raised as a hopeless aristocrat. Perhaps if I had been out in the open world with my mother, I would have adopted the routine of a fearless sailor and sitting a few days as a prisoner would be a walk in the park.

From Jared's tales, my mother certainly didn't seem like one to cower from danger.

Over my period in the cells, the mysterious boy and I had become quite close despite the iron bars separating us. We had shared a lot. Speaking with him felt as easy as speaking with Sam for a reason I myself could not explain. I had opened up to Jared about everything; my dreams, terrible years spent in captive, escape and adventures. I'd even told him of my feelings towards my father.

"Was it strange?" he had asked one morning whilst I gnawed on my bread.

"I beg your pardon?" I had inquired in the most un-ladylike manner; with my mouth full and more food being shovelled in. Fortunately, he had found my behaviour quite amusing.

"Living with a man for months and then finding out he's your father?"

I had nodded. "Unimaginably strange. I had thought Jack to be mad. I suppose if he were mad, then I would be too."

But Jared had shaken his head at this, a smile threading itself up and over his lips as I had continued to nibble at my stale loaf. "No, it doesn't make you mad," he had assured. "You're your mother's daughter, ya know. In fact, I think you're a lot braver than you give yourself credit for, Miss Cat."

Though blushing at his comments, I had found this a suitable time to correct an error he had made. "Y-you can just call me Cat. I'm not aristocratic anymore. I'm a common adolescent; a pirate's daughter. I'm no better off than you or anyone else aboard this ship." I had caught his twinkling eyes upon mine and grinned. The skin upon my cheeks had felt undeniably flushed.

It was then I had learned of Jared's past: he was the son of two pacifists who longed to put a halt to the slave trade abroad. Shortly after his birth, his parents journeyed with him to the Caribbean where they made it their number one priority to rescue innocent Africans tortured in Jamaica. They were close to succession by the time Jared was five. Unfortunately, they were murdered and their boy employed as a servant in a nearby governor's household. It was at the age of eleven he joined forces with my mother and has been sailing with her ever since.

I had felt a pang of resentment – which still plays on my guilt, even to this very day – at this; he had spent more time with my mother than I had! On the bright side, though, this assured he knew many stories of her and told me practically anything if I inquired it. There were also countless times in which he compared me to her and by the end of our week together, I was beginning to feel as if I hadn't been so far away from her after all.

"I'm thankful for this, Jared," I told him over 'breakfast'. From the water he was slurping from, I could see his eyebrows raised: I alleged this meant he was grinning once more. I continued; "thanks to you, I know enough about my mother to engage in a normal conversation with her once we escape from here." I turned my eyes away, glancing at the wooden wall as if I could see straight through it. "I wonder how she is with my father?"

My new friend chuckled. "She'll be fine," was all he said, though I could tell from the charmed expression on his face he was conjuring up mental images of my mother giving Jack a piece of her mind. I found myself smiling too, though my imagination failed to entertain me as much as his did.

Footsteps. I instantly snapped out of it. My palms began to sweat as I clamped them around my knees, discarding my meal entirely. What were the crew coming for? They weren't due to feed us for another eight hours at the least.

I snuck a nervous glance over to Jared, seeking some comfort, but he appeared to look just as stunned as I was. I bit my lip (which, I will hastily mention, is a habit I had been informed my mother and I both shared) and closed my eyes, selfishly hoping they had come for my friend rather than me. He had more experience with these men; I assumed he would be able to catch onto their tricks and artifices better than I would.

With my eyes still sealed and head bowed, I heard the scrape of a key in a lock and the swing of the rusty door to my cell. I was no longer enclosed, but by no means free. The thought daunted me.

"C'mon Poppet," Pintel jeered. I rose slowly to my feet, stumbling slightly.

"Y-yes, sir? What is it?" I stammered, gluing my feet to the ground. I could feel Jared's eyes – his beautiful, twinkling eyes – on my back, but ignored them in spite of myself.

"Cap'n Barbossa says were ta make our guest more welcome," the chubbier pirate continued, wearing a demoralizing smile upon his grimy lips. His taller companion chuckled like an imbecile which I mentally rolled my eyes at, too afraid to perform this on my actual face.

"_Guest_?" I repeated, casting Jared a quick glance. "Forgive me, gentleman but... d-do you not mean _guests_?" I highlighted the use of a plural on my quote, though was beginning to wish I hadn't. Pintel's fat face straightened and I could see his cheeks glowing red.

"I-I..." I had to think fast, Reader; though the chances were slim, a girl completely oblivious to the act of piracy such as myself could see murder flicker behind this man's eyes. If I had only have known better, I would have not blurted out my next phrase so abruptly:

"P-Parley?"

I could almost hear Jared's thoughts protest with my forwardness. I winced as instantly as I had said it: why say such a foolish thing, Cat, why? They were bound to take me straight to Barbossa and – with Alex's stories still on mind – I was quite certain that was a place I definitely didn't want to be.

"He was 'oping you'd say tha'," Pintel chuckled. Both men seized my arms before I had time to protest - not that I would have dared do such a thing anyway.

"Cat?" shrilled Jared, instantly alert. His long fingers gripped at the tarnished bars of his cell which he shook in his own form of remonstration. "Where are you taking her? Where are you taking my friend?"

Despite everything – the fact I was most likely being marched to my death and my new acquaintance was still being kept behind bars – I couldn't help but make an unlikely connection: the strong, charming and imprisoned Jared was just as caring and protective as my gallant and clumsy friend Sam.

The only difference was how my feelings played out for each of them.

x

"She _spat_ on ye?" Arabella mused. Night had fell over _La Fleur de la Morte_ and our Miss Smith found it not her business to inquire as to what happened with Fitzwilliam. Jean had turned up sopping wet with a fish wriggling in his belt and informed her Catalina would be safe as long as Lord Dalton was not to catch on to Barbossa's trail.

Arabella had faith, and was beginning to find peace with the world. She had retreated from her cabin when all was dark and every crew member was snoring away in their hammocks.

All, that was, but Sam.

The awkward silence between the two was short lived and it took but a mere minute for them to be exchanging stories left, right, front and centre. Arabella, after sharing such legends that should really have never left her lips, found great enjoyment in hearing about her daughter's mischief. Sam had little to tell, but what he did was golden.

"Aye," the young man chuckled. "I never thought o' Cat as one to stand up for 'erself, but she weren't about to go down without a fight, I can tell ya that!" His blue eyes glinted in the moonlight as he brought a soiled bottle to his lips, swilling down the grubby liquid within. "I shouldn't o' been mugging, ta be frank. Just needed money for ma Pa'. Gotta tell ya; she were fuming! She 'as a bit o' a temper. Shame she's been tortured out o' it. Anyways, she weren't to 'appy I'd involved meself with crime."

A pang of sadness swept over said girl's mother. Arabella sighed; "so, she wouldn't be too happy finding out her parents are the lowest of the low? Y'know, pirates?"

Sam snorted at this, thick liquid spurting from his nostrils. "Ya kiddin' me, Miss Smith? Ye're all she talks about! It's 'me mother' this, 'me mother' that! She even began pesterin' Cap'n Sparrow to talk about some... Laura women. Her grandmamma, or somethin'. She went on and on about 'ow she could find ye with her 'elp." He waved his heavy hand though the darkness. "Somethin' like that. I forget."

With this, his companion smiled. "Laura. That was me mother. She was never too happy when I fell pregnant with Cat. Especially seeing as Jack was the father..."

Her words drifted off into the abyss. Sam lowered his rum, yet said nothing. He kept his large eyes fixated on Arabella's face, waiting for her to pick up the conversation for herself.

"I-I loved him, ye know?" she whispered, her head bowed and auburn tresses curling down over her porcelain face. "I think a part of me still did. Until today..." Her fists coiled into balls, nails piercing at her palm. She turned to her younger companion, brown eyes blazing; "I-I don't understand it. How could he care more about a _fountain_ than his own bloody daughter?"

"I know," Sam whispered, packaging his large arm around the elder woman's shoulders – something he had done to comfort Cat many times. She sniffled, but didn't shed a tear, staring on bravely into the gulf.

"That boy..." she stammered. " He's Jack's son, isn't he?"

Sam nodded. He found it suitable to say nothing to upset her further. Arabella was motionless. She sniffed up into the cool air, close to tears but refusing them with great strength.

"'E's younger than Cat," the burly young gentleman eventually spoke on the matter. "'E's got a fat lot o' arrogance too. Definitely Jack's boy, though I don't think the cap'n 'as taken to 'im so well. I think 'e sees young Alex as more of a tyro than an actual son." He offered the assuring smile the often flashed at Cat to her mother, with a comforting nudge in the side, "'e loves the bones of our Cat though. Any stranger woulda thought they were siblings even before they knew it 'emselves!"

It appeared Arabella didn't know what to think of this statement. She simply smiled, her eyes glowing as – Sam noticed – Cat's did.

"Ah! Belle! Just where I thought I'd find you to be!"

Jack.

The eccentric captain sauntered forth toward the microscopic party upon deck and hurled something square, hard and painful at Arabella. She squawked in surprise and then groaned in agony as it hit her square upon the forehead.

"Ye dolt!" she exclaimed. She snatched Sam's bottled and tossed it straight at Jack who evidently saw it coming and swerved indolently out of the way. Sam, ignoring the now bickering pair completely, took the fallen object from Arabella's feet and opened it up. He wasn't too excited with what was found inside.

"It's a compass," he said.

"Ah! But not just any compass, lad," Jack exclaimed, breaking his argument with the fuming maiden before him. "_This_ compass is much more better than any ordinary compass. _This_ compass doesn't not point North, or South, or East, or West nor any other 'est' or 'outh' you can think of." With glinting eyes, the captain offered a smirk to both his companions. "_This_ compass happens to point to what you want most on this Earth..."

Arabella scoffed. "Oh, Jack."

Sam, however, seemed more intrigued. "In honesty?" he inquired with caution, arching one red eyebrow high into his brow. It seemed just too mad – too wonderfully and extraordinarily mad – to be true.

"Cross my heart, mate," replied Jack. His chocolate eyes were lingering on Arabella who now had a twitch in her cheek. Her lips were upturning into a slow but sure smile as she wrapped her long fingers around the shiny shape in Sam's beefy grasp.

"And what _you_ want most," he turned to Arabella completely, engulfing her cool hands in his own so that his compass was blanketed in a thick coverlet of fingers, "is to find your daughter. _Our_ daughter."

This hasty correction brought a flutter to the maiden's stomach. Grinning insanely, she stared up at Jack, exchanging such a look with him that could really not be explained by any witnesses. For a brief moment, Sam was certain they were both engaging in a telepathic conversation and it was only when Arabella spoke he dismissed this theory completely.

"Thank ye, Jack. I had faith in ye."

"I know, love," he responded, releasing her fingertips. "I know."

And so, the compass began to spin.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** THANK YOU SO MUCH TO ALL MY WONDERFUL REVIEWERS! Thanks to the amazing readers of this story, we have reached 80 reviews and I couldn't be happier! Keep it up, mates, and soon we'll have crossed the 100 mark!**

**Hope this chapter satisfied you enough!**


	22. Dining With The Devil

**Author's Note:**** I've worked it all out and I can now tell you that this story will definitely have 40 chapters overall. That gives us 18 more to get up :) This was also revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter XXI**_**  
**__Dining With The Devil_

It turned out Pintel and Ragetti had little need for me. I was tossed aside like a broken toy into a large yet deserted cabin. A dark toned dress was flung idly at me and I assumed this meant I was to put it on.

I did just that only to then be informed I had to attend a diner with Captain Barbossa. A thousand thoughts flocked through my mind at this clarification, but one appeared to bother me more so than the others: poison. Could it be Captain Barbossa's intentions to pollute and kill me? No, he wouldn't. Why would he want to do such thing when I had performed no bad deeds before him? But, as Alex had said, this man was a bloodthirsty and notorious pirate; killing was a hobby to him.

I shivered in terror. There was nothing to do but sit there. Sit there and wait.

I decided this was the kind of thing that happened in romance novels: the poor maiden would be taken away by pirates against her own will but would end up charming them, fitting in with the crew and falling for the captain. I made a mental note to kill those authors; they really had no idea.

A while passed before the door was flung open and a long wooden table was paraded forth. I watched as it was located in the centre of the room and clothed in a lacy white cloth. Food was aligned and I swear, Reader, I was drooling: thick soups with crusty loaves of fresh bread, fruits on prettily decorated plates, juicy meat so hot it was still steaming and the largest, most brilliant green apples I could have ever imagined! Wine was poured into elegant glasses and – though I wasn't one for alcoholic beverages – I yearned to lift one to my lips.

"Miss Dalton," Barbossa announced, suddenly before me.

I sucked in a breath of surprise. He grinned a black-toothed smile both sly and devious but also entertained; my behaviour clearly amused him. Body shaking quite undeniably, I bobbed a curtsy unsure of what I should do in such presence.

"Or would ye prefer Miss _Sparrow_?" he continued as he sat swiftly at the top of the table. I quickly took refuge in the seat I presumed was placed for me and smiled meekly as a rejoinder.

"I..." I spluttered on my own tongue. "I would prefer Miss Smith, please, sir."

Barbossa's lips corrupted into a hideous smirk. "Of course," was all he said, bringing one of the crispy green apples to his scarred face and sinking his jagged teeth into its flesh. Some of the thick, white substance from its inside dribbled down his chin and in amongst the wiry hairs of his beard. I felt instantly nauseous.

"Try the wine," he commanded with a mouthful of apple sap. I did as I was told, bringing the closest glass to my lips. I pursed them tight together so that the liquid inside tingled at them instead of being let past. I wasn't going to take my chances with this drink; who was there to say it wasn't intoxicated with a terrible substance? Besides, alcohol and I had never really proved to be the best mix.

"And the apples," Barbossa gestured, "one of those next."

"N-No thank you, sir," I whispered, "I'm not really too hungry."

"Aye," he said, words becoming a lengthened, steady slur, "well I suppose ye're wondering what we want with ye..." Now leaning forth over his plate, Barbossa's cloudy eyes scanned my expression (which, I might add, was as blank as a bed sheet; I was having a slight waver of trouble responding to this man's questions) in a discrete way. He seemed to want me to be interested in whatever he was to say.

"Yes, sir," I decided on. I felt hot under the collar.

"Miss Smith, we need yer help."

This – I can say hand on heart – struck me with definite surprise. In fact, the situation was almost laughable! Bloodthirsty pirates – grown, fearsome men who had slaughtered and pillaged hundreds – needed the so proclaimed help of a short, stubby, aristocratic reject of a fifteen year old girl such as me? I resisted the urge to snort.

Captain Barbossa noted my reaction (I was quite certain my shock was scrawled straight across my face) and rose to his feet, tossing another apple up and catching it with ease. A furry monkey screeched and, much to my shock, leapt upon the captain's shoulder as he spoke:

"With ye, we can lure in yer Lord Dalton and fight him to the death. The pirate world will be restored and ye yourself will be free."

Of course: that made much more sense. I would simply have to be used to entice a madman instead of physically doing anything. I didn't know whether to be relieved or offended. I supposed a part of me must have assumed this was what the crew of the _Black Pearl_ had wanted me for in the first place because, out of all the emotions I was experiencing, surprise was not amid them.

However, one particular thought was dominant: "c-could I go back to my family, sir?"

Barbossa's hands rested upon my shoulders. I knew he was smirking although my back was turned to his grimy face. "Pirate's honour," he replied. I wasn't sure whether it was best to trust a pirate's honour – or strike bargains with pirates in the first place – but it appeared I had only one choice.

I rose to my feet. "In that case, Captain Barbossa, I am inclined to accept your request on one condition."

"Name yer terms."

"M-My friend Jared gets to be released from the cells and taken into your crew."

Now I know what you must be thinking at this point, Reader: why waste a perfectly good wish on a boy in the cells in whom I knew very little about? The truth is, I felt strangely towards Jared – he was different. He made me smile and my heart seemed to pound faster whenever he came near. He was my friend, even if we had known each other for but a few days. I couldn't just let my friend rot down there whilst I roamed free.

"Very well, Miss Smith." Thankfully, Captain Barbossa didn't seem to see this as a problem. "We have an empty cabin for ye. Can't have a charming young lass such as yerself in amongst us miscreants." He chuckled gravely at his own witticism

"Th-thank you, sir."

"Apple?" He held out the fruit with a glint behind his eye. I took it in my own two hands and sunk my teeth deeply in. As I munched, a thought crossed my mind: so many terrible stories were told of pirates such as Barbossa and Jack when really, they weren't half bad. In complete honesty, as far as my own experience went, the men that really couldn't be trusted were the devious and disgusting owners of manor houses and large outstretches of land who most likely thought up these grizzly legends.

I could trust Barbossa, I assured myself. Of course I could.

The thing is, dear Reader, I had been very wrong: very wrong indeed. But that isn't a tale this story will come across. We have plenty of time that later.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** I know that Barbossa was pretty much the most OOC-est I've ever written him... but I don't really think he would be mean to Cat. I don't think he's too much of a mean character really; he just doesn't like Jack. Just another opinion I suppose! :') Thanks for reading!**


	23. The Pearl's Pirates

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011!**

**Quick thanks to Oceangoddess for being my 90****th**** reviewer! And of course, thanks to everyone else for getting me there! 10 more 'til 100! Bring it on! :)**

* * *

**Chapter XXII**_**  
**__The Pearl's Pirates_

_Rattle. Rattle. Shake. Shake._

"Here let me." Alex Sparrow, so Arabella had discovered, had a tendency to pop up out of thin air at the most inappropriate moments. Using this very technique, he sprouted up from her left side and snagged Jack's compass from her loose grasp. As she made a quick noise of protest, he opened it himself, staring in amazement as the little red needle twirled.

Arabella exhaled, loudly. She stood before him, hands on hips and brown eyes flashing, hoping this annoying adocelent could pick up on her impatient manner. She really had no time for anyone's games, let alone a Sparrow's.

"Hm," muttered Alex. He threw the compass back with a quick flick of his wrist. "Works just fine. _You_ must be confused about what you want."

"Don't ye be so absurd," Arabella retorted, taking this with offense. To her great frustration, the boy gave a short, quick laugh at her. "I know _exactly_ what I want," she continued to glower. "I want to find Cat."

Alex simply flashed the trademark Sparrow grin at her before darting off in the opposite direction.

The maiden shook her head, denying herself a smile. Though bothersome and irritating, the boy was just like Jack had been at his age. Perhaps she ought to go easy on him; there were after all, some fine memories she had shared with the teenage Captain Sparrow and, despite making her want to shred out her auburn curls in exasperation, Alex only reignited these reminiscences.

She sighed, looking back to the compass. It seemed to be certain on what she wanted the most. This, however, came in the form of her wily, teenage crush who was now in the middle of a discussion with his first mate. Too busy to notice her so it seemed.

"It's pointing at Jack, isn't it?" Constance chuckled as she heaved a box twice her weight up into her arms. She let it fall and came up from behind, peering questioningly over her shoulder. Arabella enclosed the compass and held it against her chest, shooting Constance one deadly, fearsome glare. The woman made a huff, shrugging her shoulders, flicking her strawberry blonde locks away and picking up her stocks. She marched off with her head held high. Arabella couldn't help but sneer at her back – despite all that she had done for her over the years, she still found it impossible to feel anything towards Constance other than hate.

"But yes," she spoke softly to herself, following the point of the needle to Jack's crazed face, "it is pointing at _Jack_."

x

Jared quite liked adopting the role of a pirate. And, in return, the crew seemed to quite like adopting him into their little family clan. The same, of course, couldn't be said for me.

"Aw, Cat," he joshed as I stood at the starboard side, gripping the rail so tight my knuckles turned a sickly white, "don't let them catch your tail." I rolled my eyes; Jared seemed to like throwing in 'cat phrases' whenever he spoke to me. "Not everyone can appreciate the company of Barbossa's sworn enemy's daughter."

I blinked at him. "I'm not concerned about that, Jared," I said, although it was playing on my mind quite a bit.

"Oh," he grunted. His charming blue eyes reflected the curl of the ocean as he curved them out to sea. "Then what's wrong? You don't seem too... well. Are you worried about Arabella?"

I bit my lip; the truth be told, I had no idea what was wrong. I felt very restless and angry. I found myself constantly pacing up and down or grinding my teeth together in frustration. I desperately wanted to lie down, but doing so just made me more and more anxious and agitated. I had wondered why on earth I felt like this countless times but I still couldn't put my finger on it.

"Y-yes," I lied, deciding it would be the easiest thing to do, "yes. I am very worried about her."

Jared then graced me with his 'she'll be fine' speech with a comforting hug against his chest. I felt my heart skip a few beats; Reader, if you were me, you would understand. Jared is the kind of boy in whom girls would pay a lot of interest if they had the chance. In fact I was quite certain he would go on to break many hearts one day. Possibly my own, if I didn't control my girlish attractions towards him.

"Barclay," I heard a gruff grumble from the opposite end of the deck. Jared was wanted, so it appeared. He flashed me one smile – one perfect, amiable smile – before hurrying off to aid the pirate who required his strong helping hand.

This, however, didn't mean I was blessed with much time alone.

"_Awk! Wind in yer sails!_" the blue parrot – whom belonged to a man named Cotton, so I had learnt – flapped his feathered wings to get my attention. I turned slowly, only to see several members of the crew – Pintel and Ragetti among them as well as the dwarfish fellow I had encountered once before – standing before me.

"It's the captain's daughter," whispered one to his friend; from what I could remember, his name was Murtogg. His companion – Mullroy, I believe – just shook his head.

"No, she ain't," he protested in a well spoken accent forced to pirate lingo. "She's Mr _Sparrow's_ daughter."

"Exactly, and _he's_ the captain."

Quite bewildered by this conversation, I decided to pipe in: "he's the captain of _La Fleur de la Morte_, if that's what you mean?" I offered. "Well, of c-course, she belonged to Captain Laura Smith but now she belongs to Captain Sparrow. I think." My cheeks were instantly warm. I knew I was most likely blushing a very formidable shade of red.

"Aye," Marty, the dwarf inserted, stepping from between the legs of his fellow crewmates. "But he was captain of the _Black Pearl_." Proudly, he jabbed one stubby little finger at himself and announced with pleasure, "and I served him."

A few mutters were shared and exchanged throughout the short crowd. "_We_ served him both times," Ragetti challenged whilst Pintel's eyes fell upon me. He asked me whether I had heard the stories and, whilst wondering what exactly this meant and what business these men really wanted with me, I slowly began to recall Alex's ramblings and nodded.

"I-I have heard a few," I said quietly. "My brother told me he escaped an island with a raft of turtles."

Again, this provoked more mumbles. Marty strode forwards and took my elbow in his tiny hand. He led me away from the party – though they found it their business to follow – and offered me a seat upon a nearby barrel. Confused, I thanked him and clambered on. I was quite curious as to what deed this little man was to perform and, in the end, was a little shocked when all he wanted to do was recite a legend.

"It was about fourteen years ago..." he started with a mysterious glint behind his eyes.

For the next hour or so, I was enlightened by my new friends: they told me every detail on my father's life they could evoke. He _had_ been the captain of the _Pearl_ but mutinied against by none other than Captain Barbossa. He was left to die, yet escaped his imprisonment of an island by strapping sea turtles together using only the hair upon his back. For years, he was left wandering (no-one appeared to know what he was doing, only that he was creating pirate history) until he arrived in Port Royal and chased after Barbossa with the help of a blacksmith and governor's daughter.

It then began to get phenomenal, like nothing I'd ever heard before. Jack tracked down the chest of Davy Jones and was eaten – yes, _eaten_ – by his sea beast the Kraken. He was left to rot in the depths of the Locker before he was rescued and managed to kill Jones, stop Lord Beckett (a ghastly man in whom I remember meeting as a three year old infant) from taking over the Seven Seas and make it out in one piece. He was now after the Fountain of Youth and locked in a neck and neck race against Barbossa and, oddly enough, Lord Dalton.

"Apparently," Marty eventually came to his conclusion, "Miss Smith knows where the Fountain is. That's why Jack needed her and why we traded her for you."

"We need you to kill old Fitz Pompous Dalton," perked up another man. I smiled at his little nickname for the Lord.

"_Then_, we'll get the maps off Jack," our dwarf finished. "And we'll live forever." Cheers erupted throughout the men. Few knocked their rum bottles together and even begun to dance a jig. I giggled, gently.

Sneaking a quick glance over my shoulder, I saw Jared had completed his chores and was now free, gazing back out to sea with a rope between his cut nails. "It sounds like a very fine plan, sirs," I rose to my feet and bobbed a curtsy, deciding I would retire and return to where I had started. "Thank you for your stories. I must go, but remind me to return the favour one day."

A chorus of 'ayes' followed me as I strode forth and halted at my friend's side. I saw his lips change their shape and drop into a large grin as he eyed me from beneath those thick lashes of his.

"Making friends, Cat?" he smirked. I laughed softly, my mood suddenly a whole lot better off.

Slowly but surely my mind was being changed about piracy. Perhaps – just perhaps – it wasn't so bad after all.


	24. Fever

**Author's Note:**** Ohey, Sparrabella moments ahoy! ;) I revised this on January 9, 2011, and still, reading over it makes me happy! Oh Sparrabella, you almighty pairing, you...**

* * *

**Chapter XXIII**_**  
**__Fever_

To this day, I don't actually recall how I became so ill. It just seemed to happen, and not surprisingly either.

Raised in a house with nothing but endless boundaries, I hadn't really developed the _best_ immune system. Sam, I knew from having lived upon the streets his entire life, had been able to battle off the chicken pox with no problem whatsoever whereas Alice had been certain I wouldn't make it though the first night. It was then Fitzwilliam decided to allow me to have access to the gardens to help my resistance to illnesses. In honesty, it proved to be no help whatsoever.

Now in the centre of the Caribbean sea, I had heard of many sailors dying due to malaria and scurvy even if having been raised on the streets like Sam. Immunity was nothing out here, which, I suppose, gave us all a sickeningly fair advantage. However, I had always bypassed the thought of falling dreadfully ill though I had forced myself to consider the risks when planning my retreat here; now, it seemed I would have to face it after all.

"Cat, don't worry," Jared whispered to me; I had begun to feel light in the head, dizzy and nauseous. The sun seemed five times its size and I could have sworn the crew members had descended in size before my eyes.

"It's just the fever." He smoothed my messy hair away from my forehead and felt my temperature. His large hands were cold and comforting. I could have fallen asleep just there if I had only not been standing up.

"Malaria?" I choked out. He shook his head.

"No, Cat, don't worry," he repeated, allowing me to lean on his side as I didn't quite reach his shoulder. He supported me in his strong grasp, kicking the door to Barbossa's cabin open with his knee.

It was empty, only inhabited by a few maps and atlases strewn across the captain's messy desk.

It was also a cool and quiet environment which I was certain was supposed to be a good thing: I, however, couldn't bear it. Demons appeared to be leaping from wall to wall, smirking at me as I misplaced my health completely and began stumble over my own two feet.

"Here," Jared said in my ear. He walked me as steadily as he could manage over to Barbossa's bunk and threw back the blankets. I wormed my way beneath the covers and closed my eyes; I could see spots bouncing off one another on back of my eyelids. I felt freezing cold, though I was certain I had broken out into a furious sweat. Jared worked around me, his soothing hands pulling back my hair and tucking me in tight.

Abruptly, an alarmed shout erupted from the open doorway, belonging to none other than Captain Barbossa himself. Our unpermitted usage of his cabin seemed to not have pleased him in the slightest.

"What be this, Mr Barclay?" he bellowed, storming over to where we had positioned ourselves in the darkness. "Have ye not your own hammock, ye poxy cur!"

"It's for Cat, Captain!" my friend blurted in defence. "She's got the fever! Surely you'd give up your cabin for a woman in need!"

Barbossa, though, was no longer bothering to listen. "Don't dare impugn me honour, boy!" he spat. "Let me remind ye," I opened my eyes just in time to see our captain jab at Jared in the chest, though my friend managed to keep his face firm, "if it weren't fer Miss Cat, _you_ yerself would be rotting with the fever below!" He turned to me, scarred face becoming a doubled up blur before my eyes. "The lass and I have an agreement which I meself would like to talk to her about!" he snarled.

To my surprise, however, Jared shook his head.

"No. She's resting. Come back later," he replied with his jaw set. Although the fact I was beginning to lose my sense of sight was evident, I could tell Barbossa's clouded eyes were burning with rage. In fact, I was quite certain he would have stabbed Jared right there and then if a distraction in the form of Pintel hadn't interrupted from the gape in the doorway.

"Cap'n! Ship spotted!" he panted. There was a hesitation and a silence (only broken by my rasping coughing fit) before Barbossa eventually grunted and stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Jared's lips possessed an instant grin of triumph. I, however, was not so satisfied.

As the ship began to shake, I made an appalled gargling sound. My stomach leapt up into my chest, my legs curled into a twisted position and the entire content of last night's potato meal came up. Jared made a startled jump as my vomit splashed at his feet. He was kind enough to keep quiet about it, merely moving away and bringing down a cloth to mop it up. I lay shivering and half-blinded for a long while, hearing nothing but the pound of my own head and quiver of my disturbed gut.

I was as weak as a newborn and I didn't need to be told so.

Quite certain I was in hysteria by now, I began to whimper. Jared, after cleaning up my mess, whispered 'shushes' at me and wiped my face clean of tears.

"Go to sleep, Cat," he urged, falling into a sitting position by my bedside. "I'll stay with you."

I wished I could protest though, as it seemed, my body wasn't agreeing with me today. With a sour taste in my mouth and a faithful friend clutching my fingertips, I finally managed to find peace with my pounding headache and find comfort in a dreamless sleep.

x

It was a relatively calm night. The sea surrounding the almighty _Fleur de la Morte_ could have stopped dead still for all Arabella knew. It was peaceful, tranquil, and serene. In fact, it was almost _too_ peaceful.

As the moonlight bounced from her eyes, the twinkling stars glinted in that blanket of black sky and the only thing audible was the steady sound of her breathing, Arabella brought back her head of auburn tresses and began to sing:

"_Now let ev'ry man drink off his full bumper,  
And let ev'ry man drink off his full glass;  
We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy,_"

"And here's to the health of each true-hearted lass," came the next line, spoken in one British tongue which would make any woman weak at the knees. Arabella, of course, knew this from personal experience.

"Hello Jack," she said, as he sauntered clumsily to her side, "how are ye?"

"Never better, love," he replied. "I _am_ rather relieved you haven't found it your business to scratch out my eyes and fed them to Constance yet," came his next remark; Arabella couldn't stifle back her snigger. Jack's wit – though moderately strange in some areas – was something that tickled her funny bone. The two of them had always been on the same page – or so she had believed.

"It would be best if I didn't," Arabella agreed. "No matter how tempting."

Jack made a histrionic gasp, clutching one hand over his heart as if her words had pierced it straight through. "Trifles, love!" he grinned, golden molars sparkling in the dim lighting. "I would've thought _the_ Captain Jack Sparrow would have made more of an impression on you."

She smiled. "Well, unfortunately, he didn't seem to become the man I thought he would be."

"Or perhaps," Jack retorted, glancing up from scrutinizing his dirty nails to grace Arabella with one of his best and most charming grins, "you didn't give him much of a chance." Her auburn eyebrows arched up high with this. She was positive she had seen Jack wink from beneath the low rim of his tricorn hat.

"I'm curious, Jack," she started, "as to why yer compass seems to point to the wrong thing."

"Oh?" Jack chirped.

"Yes." A mischievous glint appeared behind her eyes as she spoke, slowly shuffling close enough to her old friend to smell the warm alcohol fresh on his tongue. She looked up at him, with a challenging grin: "it seems to be mistaking what I want most with what I have _missed_ the most these past fifteen years."

The captain glanced down at her from beneath his kohl-lined lashes. His fingers began to throb quietly against the side of his ship as he spoke; "and what would that be, darling?"

"I think ye know, Jack," replied Arabella, frankly. She drew herself up to his level and lifted up her chin. She had been wrong about Jack, had she? The very thought seemed laughable. She would have to see for herself. "And though ye won't admit it, I'm quite sure ye have missed it too."

Jack's dark eyebrows shot up beneath his red bandana. "Oh I _have_ missed it," he admitted, rolling one finger across her cheek. "It was quite good, was it not?"

"It was." She bit her lip, wondering whether or not she had taken her allege too far. Perhaps it was not wise to tease and test the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, no matter how surprisingly alluring he appeared to be. He _was_ Captain Jack Sparrow after all. Therefore, she pulled away, and said with a heavy breath, "though perhaps not wise to do again."

"I beg to differ," came Jack's reply.

"I bet ye do."

He chuckled, slowly, evidently rather enjoying himself. "I have a hunch, Belle-me-lass." He played with the onyx ring resting upon his finger as he spoke, eyeing her from the corners of his chocolate orbs. "You _will_ come over to my side, I know it."

The maiden rolled her eyes. "Ye have too much certainty in me, Jack," she assured him. "One day, I will get the chance to do something outrageous, something ye would never expect. And I won't pass up that opportunity."

Jack smiled weakly to himself. "I shall look forward to it, m'lady." He held up a rum bottle Arabella had failed to notice in his grasp and grinned, metallic teeth reflecting the glare of the moonlight. "A toast... to _opportunities_."

"To opportunities," Arabella agreed, flicking one long fingernail against the body of his bottle.

"_And,"_ she mentally added whilst Jack guzzled back his alcohol at a fast enough to give him a rather severe case of hiccups, _"to not letting them pass on by this time."_

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Sparrabella for the win, yes? Yes. **

**The song Jack and Arabella were "singing**_**"**_** is **_**Spanish **__**Ladies**_**. Y'know, the pirate shanty Teague plays on his guitar in At World's End? Just in case anyone was wondering...**

**Coming up: more vomit, more drama, more Sparrabella and more of our favourite fool Fitzdalton. Stay tuned! :D**


	25. Invasion

**Author's Note:**** Revised on January 9, 2011.**

* * *

**Chapter XXIV**_**  
**__Invasion_

A pained and merciless cry ripped through the ship and it had not come from me.

I awoke with a jolt. For the past three days, I had been resting below deck in a hammock right next to Jared's in hope that I would make a quick recovery. I still, however, felt terrible. Though this scream – this bloodcurdling, horrific and injured scream – was enough to make anyone rise to their feet, despite their current health state.

With my head pounding in my ears, I staggered away from my uncomfortable place of rest and padded bare footed over broken bottles and dirty men's breeches. I assumed it was midday as I could already feel the warmth of the heavy Caribbean sun pounding down upon me.

"Master Welch, I can assure you, our intentions are strictly honourable," I heard Barbossa purr.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Welch? Why did such a name seem so familiar to me? Clutching onto one thickly woven rope, I hesitated on the step I stood upon, thinking it wise to discover what was going on before making any movements I would regret later.

"We have no women aboard our ship," Barbossa went on; I could see him fiddle idly with his dirty beard as he spoke, looking down upon this Welch (whose back was turned so I could not see his face) with boredom and disgust scrawled across his face.

"Don't play with me, man!" snapped his opponent. As he turned, I could distinguish that he was an old and beastly man with hair as slimy as his foul expression. But more shockingly so, what I could also tell was that he appeared to be the exact character who had aided Fitzwilliam's kidnapping scheme in my dreamed-up reminiscences.

If _he_ was here, it could only mean Fitzwilliam was too.

I began to shake.

"I know she's 'ere," Welch continued to gargle from behind blackened teeth. "Now 'and 'er over an' the boy can live."

_The boy?_

This shock had evidently not been enough.

I felt a sudden pound of adrenaline rush through my weakened body. My temperamental stomach protested against this emotion and I had to muster all my inner strength to suppress and terrified cough. I was instantly reminded of my virus as I stretched my neck out into the open only to see the most horrific and violent sight I could ever remember witnessing.

Jared. My friend lay in a gory heap, stripped of his shirt and the skin from his back.

I could see his very blood drying upon what skin remained and hear the pitiless buzzing of the bugs and flies landing upon and in his wounds even from such a distance. Sweat and dirt from his dark hair began to trickle down the back of his neck, mingling with insects and oozing red liquid found upon his butchered back. The foul reek of this blended with the hot air could only be described one thing: death. And, if not for his distressed shrieks and whimpers, I would have presumed Jared as just that.

Dead.

Barbossa stared down at him, grunted twice and shrugged before saying, "kill 'im. He's of no worth to me."

A gasp arose and caught in my throat. I began to shake violently and my medical state seemed like it had dramatically decreased. Jared! He couldn't die. They couldn't kill him! I forced down a cry and held on to my arising vomit, no matter how soiled the taste.

"Then 'e wouldn't be worth killin'," snorted Welch. His metal-toed boot made a quick, sharp contact with Jared's ribs and I swear, Reader, I heard them crack.

"But perhaps, Captain Barbossa," continued our unwelcomed guest, circling the captain with a merciless sneer, "_you_ would. Now I'll ask ya'll one last time. Where. Is. The girl?"

Barbossa's cat-like eyes fell to a squint; I could tell he was plotting something and was beginning to hope his plan went along the lines of drawing his dagger and twisting it into Welch's stomach.

"Not much of a fast thinker, are ya?" Welch snapped, a mere second after his last retort. "Nothin' like Sparrow; he woulda done something irrational by now. Somthin' crazy. He woulda got me off this ship and, well, you... you really aren't a comparison, are ya, Hector? Now listen. I want Sparrow's daughter, an' I know she's 'ere. So if I 'ave to bully and torment it outta ya, I will. And if I 'ave to kill all of ya for good measure, I definitely will."

His words swirled in tight circles behind my skull. There was really only one solution in which I saw fit. If I emerged, so would Fitzwilliam. Therefore, there was but one thing I could do.

"C-captain?" my voice stammered as I ascended into the blinding daylight. "I'm here."

There was not a mouth closed. As I stumbled forth, the crew gaped in astonishment. To them it must have seemed like I was handing myself over to Dalton. Which, in a twisted and terrifying way, I was.

"Jared?" I breathed. Ignoring the stares, I fell to my knees and took his battered hand. His clear blue eyes pleaded from beneath his colourful bruises. He wanted me to run; I was a fool not to listen.

Welch let out a blood-curling laugh. "_No women aboard our ship_? No women, eh? Filthy pirates." He paused to reach out and place a fingertip against my bare shoulder. I shuddered, releasing Jared's hand to clench at my churning gut.

"I'm not going with you," I said as firmly as I could manage. I rose to my feet and backed close to Barbossa, narrowing my eyes at the elderly fiend before us.

His throat grumbled. Anger danced across his face. "Oh, you are, lass! Yer coming with me _now_."

"Belay that," Barbossa spat, digging his yellow nails into my shoulder blades. I resisted a shrill of pain. "Show me Lord Dalton, or the lass goes nowhere."

I assumed this was all part of his ruthless plan; within moments Fitzwilliam would most likely be shot down dead and his crew would be slapped away like a swarm of annoying flies. I would then be taken back to _La Fleur _and finally be permitted to get on with my life, hopefully living upon a distant island with my mother and our friends if they so wished to join us.

Welch opened his decayed mouth to argue. He and Barbossa bickered for a mere few minutes whilst I attempted to both cling on to my consciousness and Jared's quivering hand.

But he came, of course. Fitzwilliam never stays silent for long.

"Now, now, gentleman," he snapped, tongue curling like a ravenous snake, "there's no need for such behaviour. We have a lady present."

He gestured to me with his long fingers and I felt my mood descend down into certain depression. If what I had felt due to my illness was bad, then this could only be explained as fifteen thousand times worse.

I hated him with every inch of my self-respect.

He had ruined everything. He had destroyed my mother's life as well as my own and manipulated all around him. He had killed, betrayed and blackmailed and worse still, arrested and put to death men who had done just that in the name of piracy.

If Barbossa would not shoot Fitzwilliam now, then I would have to pull the trigger myself.

He deserved to die.

"Dear Lord, Catalina, what is _wrong_ with you?" he continued, cocking his head to one side. I shrunk back against Barbossa in self-consciousness, too afraid to do much else. "You look like you've died and awoken from your grave, girl. We shall have to get you cleaned up, immediately; if these dreadful men have laid a hand on you then so help me I will—"

"You'll what?" Jared spoke from my feet. He shook like a newborn lamb as he stood up straight to challenge Fitzwilliam. "What could you do to them that you haven't yet done to Cat and her mother for that matter?"

_Shoot_ _him_, I silently begged. _Shoot him, Barbossa. Shoot this so-proclaimed nobleman straight through his black heart._

Nothing happened.

"Do you _challenge _me?" Fitzwilliam cried, drawing a pistol and pressing it to Jared's neck. My friend was motionless. The Lord's sharp eyes became narrow, malicious slits as he scanned Jared and his painful injuries. I held my breath.

"All I'm saying," Jared exhaled, "is you can hardly hold it against these men for _kidnapping_ Cat when you did the _same thing_ to her, only _fifteen years earlier_!"

He cocked his pistol.

Jared, however, just laughed. And I'll admit to you now, Reader, even I felt a tingle down my spine at his new adopted tone. He wasn't afraid; he was livid. He was so fuming, his wounds were suddenly insignificant. He blatantly wasn't going to let the Lord walk all over him. I wondered whether or not he had borrowed this trait from my mother or courage was ten a penny away from England.

"You, my boy, are quite a fighter," our enemy eventually commented. "A ladies man, I can assume. You remind me _far_ too much of someone I do not particularly like."

I was beginning to feel dizzy. Ignoring the argument bouncing back and forth behind me, I looked around to Barbossa with pleading eyes, hoping he would understand.

Thankfully, he offered one black, crooked smile. "Let us wait until the opportune moment, Miss Cat," he whispered, pulling one side of his cloak away to reveal his pistol and prove his loyalty.

I managed a little nod, about to stutter a reply.

But I could not for an unwanted hand was now coiled around my upper arm and already tugging it.

I shrieked, unsure of what else to do. Welch, the grimy henchman, just snarled, ignoring as I attempted to break his grasp against my skin. Jared protested, his fist clenched and ready to collide with the fiend's face. Welch simply ducked, pressing his own clammy hand into my honourable friend's gut sending him smashing to the deck in an instant.

I made a desperate attempt at calling to Barbossa, though I observed he and his crew were already engaged in a sword battle with Fitzwilliam.

I squirmed as Welch pulled me, catching the sight of my captain taking on Fitzwilliam and beginning to lose sourly. As talented as the pirate lord may have been with a blade, he would undoubtedly fail to Dalton, considering the nobleman's background in fencing lessons and intense practice regime.

"Come, ye stupid brat!" Welch yelped in my ear, tearing my attention from the battle. "Ye've caused us all too much trouble with yer ridiculous plotting. Yer family don't want you, stupid fool. Heck, we don't even want ye! Do ye realise what ye've cost the Navy, ye pathetic whore?"

"If you do not want me," I snapped back, "then why come after me?"

His reply came in the form of a slap to the back of the head. I whimpered, suddenly afraid for myself, though still managed to keep myself upright.

"Don't kill them!" I pleaded. "I'll come with you if you spare them."

"Ye'll come with us anyways," Welch barked. He pushed hard on the back of my neck, directing me toward the gang plank sitting carefully between the two ships. I did as I was demanded, deciding now would be a brilliant time to come up with a plan of some kind.

But unfortunately, I was not my father's daughter; I had no skills in that area.

I collapsed down to the deck of the _Valiant_, wracking my brains for the reason I had not resisted Welch's pull whilst I was still aboard the _Pearl_ with a little safety. I was completely stranded now; there was no hope whatsoever.

Simply exhausted from fighting and feeling incredibly nauseous from the virus, I curled my knees up to my chest and huddled against a wooden barrel. Welch stared down at me with a sneer.

"Just let me sleep please," I whispered, turning away from his ice cold glare and burying my head against the frozen wood. And for whatever bizarre reason, he did.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Dun, dun, dunnnnnn :) Fitzwilliam returns. Poor Cat can't catch a break, can she? Comments are welcome, my lovelies!**


	26. All Hope Lost

**Author's Note:**** VICTORY! **

**100 REVIEWS! We actually made it! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I can't thank you enough! Oh, I love you all so much! All I can do is post another chapter as a sort of repayment! Thanks once more!**

* * *

**Chapter XXV**_**  
**__All Hope Lost_

I was vomiting in my sleep, apparently.

I awoke with it seeping from my lips and caking my pillow. I gagged on the scent and taste, arising from my place of rest in an instant. Coughing and spluttering, I made a feeble attempt to steady myself though I soon collapsed down into a pair of frail arms. A woman's voice yelped in distress as I became a stinking, diseased burden on top of her.

"Oh, Cat," she breathed in an all too familiar tone, "what have ye become, eh?"

"A-Alice?" I gargled. I managed to avert my eyes from whatever they had been fixated upon to meet the pretty blue gaze of my loyal and trustworthy maid, her dark hair still pinned back in its usual manner.

Alice had not changed at all, only becoming paler and scrawnier due to what I assumed to be many months of sailing. Her maid's attire had been replaced with a ragged gown, much like the one of Constance's I had been wearing up until very recently. Her thick lashes were rimmed with dark circles of fatigue.

But she was still Alice, I realised. And she was just as upbeat as ever.

"My, my, dear," she sighed, stripping my bed of its vomit-clothed sheets. I sat myself down upon the cool floorboards, watching her work in a form of disbelief.

"Ye have got yourself in an awful state, haven't ye?" she began. "Don't worry yer head though, Cat; it's not malaria. Just the fever, Doc says. You're supposed to stay abed until you get all fixed up. Lord Dalton ain't too pleased, however. We've got ta delay the trip to Kingston. Doc fears ye'll worsen if ya set foot there, what with all them African slaves waltzing around."

"Kingston?" I repeated, slowly. My mind was abuzz with queries. "Kingston in _Jamaica_?"

My maid nodded. I blinked up at her in complete bewilderment. I wasn't even going to bother myself with making sense of this. "Why are we headed there?"

"Closest port, m'love," Alice replied. "Got to get there fast, Lord Dalton says. He's got contacts there; got his own slave plantation, believe it or not. He plans to get yer beastly kidnappers hung there and then marry you in the nicest chapel there is."

My jaw dropped. My vomit-stained teeth began to chatter and my burning skin began to crawl. My so-proclaimed kidnappers were to be _hung_? And I was to be _married_? I could barely believe it – I hadn't journeyed half way around our world to be only back where I had started _or_ to get my friends murdered by Fitzwilliam's ruthless 'contacts'! Something had to be done!

"_No!_" I shrieked it. "It _can't_! It can't happen, Alice! It just can't! They didn't kidnap me – " Though, I supposed, technically they did, " – and I can't be married!"

_What about Jared?_ was my gut reaction. Though I did not love him and he did not me, if I were ever to marry, I had hoped it would be with someone like him.

But he was about to be killed. And it was entirely my fault.

"Hush, Cat, hush," Alice said, taking my upper arms in her hands. "Ye're delirious. Come, sit up here, love."

"_No_!" I shrilled. "Alice, please! Please let me go! Let me go back aboard the _Black Pearl_ with Captain Barbossa! He was going to take me back to my mother! Why are you siding with Fitzwilliam? I thought you _cared_!"

I could have carried on, if I had not needed to then heave up what my stomach still contained. Alice let out a little sob as my sick sprayed her clean clothes, though I couldn't apologise; I was breaking down into hysteria.

I wanted to die. Knowing there was now no escape, I feared suicide was my only option. If this illness wouldn't take my life, then I would just have to take it myself.

I would _not_ become Lady Catalina Dalton! I had not come this far only to lose the game.

I rolled up into a sobbing ball, tucking up tightly with my knees pressed beneath my chin. I knew crying would be no good; crying would not save Captain Barbossa, Jared and the crew. But what could I do? I was neither brave nor strong-willed. I was nothing like my father and nothing like my mother. I couldn't even manage a few months in the Caribbean without being smothered in disease and abducted several times.

Though despite this, I was quite certain I was the only one that could save us now.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Again, this was revised on January 9, 2011! Hope you enjoyed!**


	27. Discoveries Of Sort

**Author's Note:**** W-w-what's this? Another chapter after months and months of no updates whatsoever? My Lord, whatever could be happening here? Well, all shall be explained, after the latest instalment to **_**Lost Memories!**_

* * *

**Chapter XXVI**_**  
**__Discoveries Of Sort_

"Why isn't anyone _doing_ anything?"

Jean sighed. Sam Bailey was many things: ginger giant, a natural sailor and six foot of complete brawn already at only sixteen but if there was one thing he was not, it was patient.

"We're doing all we can, _mon ami_," he tried words of assurance, "but the Caribbean's a big place and little Cat is only small." He patted the muscled adolescent firmly upon the back. "We'll find her, MonsieurBailey. Arabella has the compass – you must have faith."

Sam exhaled a sharp breath through his stained teeth. His dirty hands swept back and forth through his thick hair and the joints on his legs shook with edginess. He was intolerant and nothing Jean nor anyone said would effectively stop this. For all he knew, his dearest Cat could be _dead. _His best friend, his honorary sister. She could have fallen to disease or the bloodthirsty hands of Barbossa – and he had not been there to protect her as he had promised.

"Ye're right," he groaned, seeing no point in arguing. "When will Jack and Arabella be back?"

Jean squinted, surveying the port in which his captain and few crew members had disappeared into. "Perhaps you should search?" he suggested. "It may take your mind off things. And you can take Sparrow Junior along with you. His sulking is annoying even the most charitable of us, _oui_?"

The Creole sailor chuckled as he walked away. This feeling of amusement was not mutual; Sam did not particularly want Captain Sparrow's bothersome son tagging along, especially since he had spent the last two hours sulking over the fact that his father did not want him trailing behind him as they searched for supplies.

Alas, there was nothing he could do now.

"Alex!" Sam bellowed across the deck. The boy leapt up in an instant. "Come with me to port."

"My _pleasure_!" he beamed, skipping up and over any obstacles in his way. "Which way, milord?"

"Uh," Sam uttered as the two headed down the gangplank, "ye choose."

Alex stopped, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. His chocolate eyes darted from left to right before he eventually paused, young face brightened.

"Ooh, hell_o_," he purred, catching the pretty smile of a maiden his age. He nudged Sam with a mischievous smirk, "I like the look of this one, mate. Wait here."

The elder boy rolled his eyes in repulsion; who could think about wooing innocent women at a time like this? Only a Sparrow, he supposed. Deciding to do as he was ordered, Sam leant back against a nearby crate, watching in hilarity as young Alex began to charm the pretty blonde before him. However, she seemed to be enjoying herself – the kid must have been better at this than he first thought.

"Oh, of course, love," the Sparrow went on, amorously, "this here is _my_ ship – _La Fleur de la Morte_, invisible sails crafted by hand."

"Oh," his female companion gushed, "ye must be very talented, Captain."

Alex grinned, casually glancing to his dirt ingrained nails. "You have no idea."

Sam sucked a breath through his sensitive teeth. His toes began to itch with anticipation beneath the worn leather of his boots. He had no time for this; no time for Alex's foolish games. He longed to do as Jean had suggested. He longed to search the port for Arabella and urge her back to the ship so they could continue with their unsuccessful and constantly delayed rescue mission.

In all honesty, no-one – not even her brother, father or even mother – seemed bothered that Cat was gone. No-one appeared to want her back as much as he did.

With one last roll of the eyes, Sam pushed away from his crate and stormed off into port, purposely avoiding Alex's glittering gaze as he passed.

"Oh, that's terrible!" he heard the blonde purr; something about her tone instructed him to stop in his tracks. "Yer poor sister; under the wing of Lord Dalton 'imself. I 'ear 'e's quite ruthless."

"_Dalton_?" Sam heard the young Sparrow boy snort. "No, love. _Barbossa._ Captain of the _Black Pearl_. The devil himself, some say. A fierce man; one possessing much more power than you yourself could even imagine."

"Not powerful enough t' keep 'imself outta Dalton's clutches though!" the blonde shrieked back, clearly offended by Alex's tone. Her anger, however, was the least of the two young sailors' worries. If Barbossa had been caught by Fitzwilliam, then surely he had also captured Cat.

Sam felt his own blood go cold. He could hear the vigorous beat of his heart in his ears. He could taste bile against the roof of his mouth. Whatever heartbreak felt like, he was sure this was it.

"Alex!" he cried aloud before he could think anymore about the situation. "Inform Reece!" The younger boy was frozen to the spot, his expression blank and his face as white as a sheet. He had certainly heard Sam's panicked demand, though it had not sunk in. He remained motionless, fear swimming behind his widened chocolate eyes.

"ALEX," roared Sam. "NOW!"

With this, he scarpered, almost tripping up and over the ripped soles of his worn leather boots. Sam lunged forwards, grasping the shoulders of the blonde in his giant hands. She shook herself, screeching as he rattled her like a child's toy, spitting at him as he begged for news of Barbossa's imprisonment.

"I don't know, I don't know, alrigh'!" she screamed. "I only know what I 'eard! It's all 'round town, no-one knows details! We're landlubbers, we 'ave no real connection! Some folk announced it a few days back an' then sailed on! Lemme go, ye giant, lemme go! I'll call me father, I will, mark me words!"

Sam looked exasperated. "There's nothin' more? Nothin' at all? Where are they headed? Ye must know, ye must!"

"Jamaica, I 'eard! Kingston, Jamaica! I could be a rumour, bu—"

This was enough for Sam. He tossed the girl aside like an empty bottle he now had no use for and spun on his heals quickly enough to generate sparks against the damp wooden dock. He flung himself aboard _La Fleur_ to see the crew were already flapping about. The colour had drained from most their faces and Reece looked as if he'd been recently abused, dark circles burying his eyes into his skull.

Sam could not manage the words he so desperately needed to say, for his throat was dry and his tongue painful against his mouth.

It turned out, however, that he didn't need to. Arabella stormed into sight, spinning like a blurred tornado of red and brown, so panicked that her usual calm tone was slurred and unstoppable, as sharp as the cold breeze that bit her uncovered skin.

"Make for Kingston! _Immediately_."

x

Despite my unfortunate situation, I was feeling oddly optimistic.

I didn't know whether this was due to the fact I had an infamous pirate captain to aid me in my escape (if I could only release him from his prison cell that lay several levels below my feet, of course) or that my fever was beginning to clear up, leaving me a lot healthier than I had been before, though, unfortunately, not one hundred percent better.

Either way, I came to the conclusion it was time to plan an escape. Or at least enlist for help in creating one.

Getting out of my tiny cabin was the easy part; Alex had taught me many times over how to pick locks with hairpins, supposedly because this was something he had taught himself and was always happy to brag about it, and Alice slept like a log. It was the actual _finding_ of the dungeons that proved to be my greatest challenge.

After wandering around below deck for what had to be over an hour, I was for once thankful to hear the roaring snore of Pintel which had not been at all pleasant to endure until this very moment.

I followed the boisterous sound until I came across a room with very little lighting and several bulging cells, each bursting to the brim with grunting pirates, crammed against one another's beer-contorted bellies. None of them appeared to awaken as I approached, not even Jared who was pressed against the bars of the most sparsely occupied cell. His injuries were at least covered, and it looked as if his kidnappers had been almost kind to him, regarding his current health.

I reached forth and touched his forehead gently; he did not stir.

"Let the lad sleep, Miss Cat."

Barbossa's sudden input in my thoughts made me jump; the lantern I carried shook in my grasp.

I turned to see him alone with a small cell to himself. I assumed he had requested this luxury.

"All of 'em. We need our energy." I caught sight of a sparkle behind his scarred eye before he turned it hastily up towards where the skies had been replaced by damp, dripping wood.

"W-what about you, Captain?" I stammered, finding my throat was a lot more sore and scratchier than it had been earlier. Perhaps I was due more medication. "Why are you not resting?"

Barbossa chuckled, though did not turn to face to mine. He kept his eyes fixed upwards and kept his spine against the straw-lined floor. I imagined it would be quite a painful place to rest, and I instantly felt guilty for the mattress I had slept upon all day.

"Plans to make, Miss Cat," he said, extending his vowels in a lazy manner. "Ye didn't think Master Ragetti ran the _Pearl_, did ye now?"

"No," I replied, hastily, "well, no, I—I'm sorry."

The captain chuckled once again, but said nothing in reply.

"I-I myself was thinking of conjuring something up," I went on in a quiet voice, unable to stop myself, "but I do not have the right mind for it. I cannot think quite like my father can."

"Nor should ye, lass. I gave ye me honour; _pirate's_ honour. Ye would lead me to Dalton, and I would return ye to Miss Smith. I'm a man of my word; workin' on our next move as we speak. Ye can rest yer pretty little head tonight, Miss Cat."

I blinked; Barbossa never failed to surprise me with his bipolar attitudes. In fact, there were times he was so different from what I assumed was his normal self that he was almost impossible to trust. However, he was my only hope and therefore my only choice was to nod in a quick response.

"Th-thank you, Captain Barbossa," I whispered. "For the most notorious pirate in the Caribbean, you are not as bad as they say."

As he began to chuckle for the third time, I felt my face flush, and hoped the dull lighting and shadows hid my red face.

"And ye aren't so bad fer Jack Sparra's daughter," he said in good humour, "I assume ye take after Miss Smith rather than that good-fer-nothin' poxy cur." I hid my smile at this, though he seemed to sense my amusement. "It be near midnight, Miss Cat; I sense we'll be approachin' Jamaica anytime soon. Perhaps within the next few hours."

I felt a lump cluster up in my throat.

"But don't ye worry," Barbossa went on. "We'll act sooner."

I nodded stiffly, before thanking him and excusing myself, as my pounding head now demanded bed rest. He uttered me directions out of the cellars, and I wondered how and why he knew so much about everything. He was a wise man, I decided to give him that as I turned away into the darkness.

"I'll tell the lad you were thinkin' of 'im, Miss Cat," his accented voice followed me and I merely nodded. If we were all to be damned, then I decided I would rather go down with Jared knowing his brilliant blue eyes were what kept me smiling when I closed my own.

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Well, what can I say? :') I'm back and more determined than ever to finish this story! I found my planning book the other day and simply realised how much I missed writing Cat's tale and how much I've missed Sparrabella!**

**And since this Angelica woman will be taking over the role of Jack's newest lady love when On Stranger Tides is released (ugh) I guess the only way Sparrabella can really live on is through fanfiction now! So, expect more updates! I plan on at least finishing this story, and, seeing on how it goes, I may post the sequel and prequel. So... keep a look out, I suppose.**

**As always, your reviews and crictism are very welcome indeed ;) So, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed, even though this was a bit of a boring chapter. But hey-ho, it can only get better! I'm back, baby! :'D**


	28. Miss Hetty

**Author's Note:**** Hey my lovelies! As you can see, I'm back in business – hopefully for real this time! Just a quick notice:**

_**NEW READERS: **_**This is my own, alternate take on PotC AFTER 'At Worlds End.' This story has **_**nothing**_** to do with 'On Stranger Tides' therefore there is **_**no**_** Jack/Angelica! You may want to read it from the start, but I can PM you a synopsis or something if you can't be bothered with that, aha :3**

_**OLD READERS: **_**Since our last departure, I've dyed my hair red and purple and I thought you'd like to know as I did it all by myself :3 Also, this chapter was hard to write and is probably incredibly historically inaccurate. But I'm sure you won't be too fussed...**

* * *

**Chapter XXVII  
**_Miss Hetty _

The amount of times I had fallen asleep in one location and woken in an entirely different one since my introduction to life at sea was unbelievable.

However, this situation was the strangest one yet; I had eventually dropped off with a pounding headache in my tiny bunk aboard the _Valiant_ what felt like a very short period of time ago, but I was now sitting with my back against the wall of a damp and dreary wine cellar.

The darkness was intense; I could barely distinguish the outline of my own hand as it seemed as if it was engulfed in an ocean of black. My bright white nightdress came out before my eyes as a dull grey sheet clothing my body and staring motionlessly at it seemed to somewhat train my vision to become acceptant of the dark. I could soon make out my precise surroundings:

The cellar I found myself in had a very low ceiling, the kind Sam would have most likely banged his carrot-topped head against. The room was long and the slimy walls made me certain it was situated below ground, despite the fact there were no ladders or steps to support my assumption. If I had one guess, it would be that we had arrived in Jamaica and I had been locked up in a cellar so I would be completely unable to work out Barbossa, Jared and the rest of the crews' whereabouts.

My stomach dropped. What hope was there for any of us now?

I knew I had to do something. Dashing from wall to wall in hurried thought, I hardly noticed the presence of another being behind me. When a cool hand placed itself upon my shoulder, it did not even make me jump from my very skin. I turned around slowly to spot a leather-skinned old woman before me.

She offered a toothless smile. "Missis Cat look well," she beamed, "Hetty's cure has done the trick."

I stared at her in bewilderment: she exceeded my short build by a mere few inches and had a face carved with lines of age. Her hair was as short as a noble Englishman's and her eyes were set deep in her skull, glittering with kindness and sincerity. Her voice was thickly accented and skin was dark; she was the kind of woman I knew instantly had been blessed with beautiful looks that had only been scarred and effected with age.

"P-Pardon?" I stammered in response.

"Hetty is sorry, missis," she replied. "My English is very little."

"I—I'm..." All words escaped my tongue before I could capture them. "I—are you trapped down here too, ma'am?"

She chuckled sweetly. "None of dat, Missis Cat. Mah name is Hetty, and we no trapped. Massa Dalton told Hetty to look after Missis Cat in t' dark; light gives Missis Cat a blinding headache. But you cured now, missis." Her charming smile stretched her cheeks wide as she repeated her previous statement, "Hetty's cure has done the trick."

I simply nodded, thinking of nothing else suitable to do or say in response to this kind, elderly new acquaintance of mine.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Mrs Hetty," I eventually stuttered, bobbing her a curtsy which seemed to make her widened eyes pop from their sockets in surprise. It was as if she'd never received this kind of polite gesture. "But I'm afraid I must leave to find my friends; they could be in grave danger."

There was no response on Hetty's part. She merely froze, tightening her bony grip on my weak upper arm. I couldn't see her deep eyes through the darkness, though I could feel that their warm, friendly gaze no longer rested upon me. I felt my new acquaintance shudder once, and then twice, until something eventually connected the lose strings in my mind and I turned swiftly around.

The outline of a strong, masculine figure was faintly distinguishable, and I knew immediately who it was. I was shaking before my stomach had the chance to drop.

"Massa Dalton," I heard Hetty clarify it for me from behind. She dropped a curtsy of her own; "Missis Cat is well."

"I see that Henrietta," snarled Fitzwilliam. The clicking of a strange device echoed against every wall of the wine cellar and a bright light flooded from his hand. I winced away from it, my head beginning to pound. I felt Hetty's skinny hands stand me upright and upon opening my eyes, I found myself pressed hard against the damp wall of the cellar with my supposed 'carer' towering down over me.

He smirked. "My lost kitten," came his twisted voice, slithering slowly from his lips like a snake released from a poacher's grasp. "It's funny, my little Cat always seems to find her way home."

My heart began to pound aggressively against my chest. Fear spiralled around my gut and squeezed my innards tightly together until I felt lost for breath. Anger boiled inside me as he _smiled_ at my reaction and my legs began to shudder. I felt strangely empowered but also incredibly sick. Unsure of what to do next, I simply opened my mouth and let the words flow:

"I am _not_ home, sir. With you, I will _never_ be home, no matter where you chase me, or where you take me. And I will _not_ marry you; I never intended to, and I will stick by my original plans. Captain Barbossa said he will take me back to mother, and he will do that! I will live with her, _not with you_! I will live how _she_ intended me to, not by you or by _your ridiculous rules and methods_. I _despise_ you Fitzwilliam Dalton, and I wish I had not waited so long in saying so."

He barely looked fazed by my outburst, despite the fact it had taken all my courage to yell out. As a matter of fact he looked fairly amused, which made my chest tighten with rage even further still.

"Cat," he said emotionlessly, letting my name drone out. "You _really_ think you have a say in the matter don't you?" He laughed. "A few months gallivanting off with filthy pirates and you think you're a completely different person! Why, I've never heard something so absurd! You're still _mine_, Catalina. And as of tomorrow, you always – _always_ – will be."

"Those 'filthy pirates' you speak of are my family, Mr. Dalton," I whispered, tearing my gaze from his piercing eyes.

"Ah _of course_," he spat, voice thick with elements of sarcasm and abhorrence. "You must be so _honoured_ to be the spawn of the one and only _Captain _Jack Sparrow. Really Catalina, it must be so _fulfilling_ to know your existence was a corrupt mistake and the man who shares that merciless, detested stare of yours is nothing but a _repulsive_, low-life, rum-soaked _pirate_."

To this day, I still wonder what made me possess the need to defend the man who had betrayed and left me whilst showing very little care or love towards me at all. I couldn't help myself however. With all the venom I could interject into my raspy voice, I spat:

"Pirate or _not_, Jack is a _thousand _times the man you will _ever_ be!"

The sharp sound of the collision of bony hand against pale cheek made me wince more than the actual pain of the blow.

Slap. Slap. Slap. Three times and counting.

I felt jagged pain surge through my face and body until I eventually had the sense to scream out. Tears began to trickle and I had to bite the insides of my inflamed cheeks to stop myself from weeping. I felt dizzy, violated and limp. I wanted to go back several months and feel the security of Sam's warm, comforting hug once more or stare upon the sparkling hue to Jared's glassy eyes.

"Not a man, Catalina?" my supposed guardian snapped. "Lord Fitzwilliam P. Dalton the III, the _richest_ figure in _all of London_, the _Lord_ with a name known and admired in _every port_ of _every land_, _thousands_ of miles across _every_ ocean in the _entire_ world _not a man_?"

He let out a contorted, twisted chuckle. "By the standards of a worthless _rat_, the bastard daughter of a mentally unstable _pirate_, who suddenly thinks she has purpose in the New World because she _found her sea legs_? _Who do you think you are, you disgusting little whore_?"

The toe of Fitzwilliam's boot collided with my thigh, once again with my stomach and then hard against my chest.

I cried out, collapsing to the sodden floor and curling up into the foetal position, shielding my organs from the aggressive nobleman attempting kick the life out of them and the breath from my tiny body.

"Please! _Please!_" I whimpered through pained and mangled cries.

"Dare _not_ plead for any justice from me, Catalina!" he spat. "Is it the fault of _I_ that the woman I loved – _the woman I wanted to be Lady Dalton more than anything_ – chose a _worthless_, _pathetic_ piece of scum over _me_? Do you think _I_ want you? You are less like Arabella than I had expected you would be, and even as I snatched your tiny body away from your guardians, I had set my expectations low."

I closed my eyes tight and bit onto my knuckles, wet tears soaking my hands and clothes.

"So if you wish to _plead_ to _anyone_ for kindness, plead to the man you call _Daddy_. Plead to that _bastard_ they call _Captain_ Jack _fucking_ Sparrow, because it is _no one's_ fault present you are on the floor now, Catalina. No one's fault you are beneath my feet other than _his_. Blame _him_ for the bruises upon your _useless_ body, and you can shout it to his grave as I will be sending him to the _deepest circle of hell_ once I am finished with you."

With one last boot, he turned on his sharp, metallic heals and strode away leaving me to be what we both believed to be broken upon the soaking cobbled ground.

"Fix that wretch for Wednesday morrow, slave," I heard his infuriated tone growl to whom I believed to be Hetty. So she was a slave: I supposed, lying beaten to within an inch of my life by Dalton, I should have expected nothing less of him. His involvement in the slave trade shocked me to no extent. "I trust you'll do a brilliant job," he went on; Hetty made no sound, "there will be the usual consequences."

I lay there for Lord knows how long. Every bone in my body felt ruined and deteriorated. I was short for breath and lost for thought. Freezing cold and tired, I simply hugged my knees tighter to my bruised chest and waited until I was pulled upright by Hetty's gentle touch.

Uttering soothing words, she massaged my jaw and poured warm, tangy medicine down my sore throat. I coughed a little, no longer to able cry. I cradled my arms around Hetty's skinny waist and held her close against me, both of us crouched alone against the mossy wall of Fitzwilliam's Jamaican cellar.

"Come now Missis Cat, this is not the end," Hetty attempted to reassure me, running her long fingers through my tousled hair. I wondered if she had ever mothered a child, and, if so, whatever had happened to her young.

"I just want to go home, Hetty," I whispered. "Please take me home."

She stared down at me, her expression grim and sorrowful. "Ah, Hetty cannot Missis. Hetty's head is on da chopping block as we are. Massa Dalton just be looking for an opportunity to drop 'is dagger," was all she said in response. I felt something twinge inside me; who would ever want to hurt such a sincere and beautiful being? If anyone was destined to a life of slavery, it was not Hetty, and I was certain of that.

"You're such a brave soul Miss Henrietta," I told her as firmly as I could manage. "I have no doubt that one day, you will go free."

Through the darkness, I was certain I could see her bright smile. She seemed to light up the room as well as the entire situation. "As will ye Missis Cat," she chuckled. "As will ye."

* * *

**Author's Note:**** Reviews would be much appreciated! I'll try and get the next chapter up sometime next week, but as I have a GCSE science exam on Wednesday and I'm meant to be getting A* on it, I very much doubt I'll have time to substitute revision for writing. I know, I'm severely disappointed too. **


End file.
